In The Eyes of Death
by Draugvr
Summary: After her boyfriend's unexpected death and her friend's disappearance, Zoe heads to Los Angeles in search of Queenie. There, she finds herself a guest at the Hotel Cortez where she meets Death in the form of a handsome man with familiar dark eyes. [Coven&Hotel Crossover with Zoe/James]
1. Love in Flames

Zoe had always hated funerals.

Her first funeral was her grandmother's. She had only been four, and far too young to truly process the meaning of death. She could never understand why she couldn't simply go to her grandmother's resting figure and wake her up. She didn't understand the tears and overwhelming sadness that surrounded her, but she knew that she didn't like it.

She had been to her ex boyfriend's funeral, but was ushered out when one of their schoolmates began to assault her with accusations. At the time, she had been racked with guilt and confusion. Upon later discovering that she had indeed been responsible for the boy's death, her mind had shut down completely.

The following funerals took place after joining the Coven. She had expected to find safety and relief when she arrived at Ms. Robichaux's Academy. With her sister witches at her side, she was going to finally understand how to control her abilities. Instead, she was only met with more death. It was as though Fate was playing a cruel joke on her. Death after death after death; the concept of hope seemed to be but a myth.

Then there had been the Resurrections. The power to bring someone back to the dead in the form of Misty Day and then Zoe herself. For a while, she was elated with the concept that she could bring back whoever she wanted. She would no longer be plagued by the wreckage that Death left behind.

Or so she thought.

Kyle was Zoe's saving grace. He was broken, even after multiple attempts to fix him, but Zoe wouldn't have him any other way. After things calmed down a bit, and peace had settled in the house, Zoe finally had time to actually _love_ Kyle. They were always at each other's side, and Zoe had never felt safer than she did in Kyle's arms. Even with the arrival of new girls - which Zoe had feared, considering Kyle's position as the only man in the house (or rather, the only _attractive_ man in the house, with Spalding lurking about the attic) - Kyle remained as faithful as ever. Even Cordelia acknowledged the young couple's connection.

"After Hank, I assumed that love was a bunch of.. well, bullshit," the Supreme had said one day as Zoe helped her in the greenhouse. Zoe snorted at the choice of words, giving the elder witch a small smile. "But then I see you and Kyle and I suddenly realize that there's hope."

Zoe hadn't known what to say, but she made sure to tell Kyle how much she loved him as soon as she returned to her room. Looking into his dark eyes she felt as though she was falling into them. Into a pool of dark love that filled up every cavity in her soul. She was no longer empty - not with the dimpled smile and strong arms that would always keep her safe.

Unfortunately, not everything could remain as perfect as she thought. It started with a fight. Zoe walked in on one of the girls, Alyssa, arguing with another, Marya. Vases and picture frames flew across the room as the girls screamed out their frustrations. At one point Marya was even lifted off the ground and slammed into the far wall.

"Stop it!" Zoe ordered, holding her hands in front of her. Each girl froze in response, wide eyes darting between each other and the witch that had intervened. "What the hell is going on here? I specifically remember Cordelia telling all of you that using your powers against your sister witches was absolutely _prohibited."_

Alyssa scowled and Zoe noticed a second too late as her fingers curled at her side. Suddenly, the blonde felt as though a swift punch had been delivered to her gut and she groaned as her back hit the wall. Her vision blurred as Alyssa approached her.

"I don't take orders from _anyone_. Not to mention I'm two years older than you. I don't care if you _are_ Cordelia's favorite bitch." Zoe struggled to get to her feet, but she felt as though there were weights attached to her wrists and ankles. Alyssa smirked and lifted her hand, while Zoe shut her eyes, trying to focus all her energy on-

"Zoe?"

Zoe opened her eyes to see Alyssa's wide-eyed gaze focused on the doorway. She immediately dropped her hand and stepped back as Kyle rushed into the room, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend and helping her to her feet. His dark eyes landed on Alyssa who seemed to shrink under his gaze.

"What the fuck did you do?" he demanded, and Zoe placed a hand on his chest to keep him from snapping the young witch's neck.

"She was fighting with Marya and I stepped in," Zoe explained quietly. "It's alright, we'll let Cordelia handle it." Kyle didn't seem to be listening and Zoe could almost feel every muscle in his body tense up. "Kyle, _no._ " Her hand went to his cheek and he flinched as though just remembering that she was there. He tore his eyes away from Alyssa's to meet Zoe's. She shook her head slightly and his body relaxed a bit before he began to lead her toward the door.

"Don't fucking touch her again," he commanded, voice dripping with venom.

Zoe looked back at Alyssa who watched them with the same wide eyes. It took her a moment, but Zoe noticed that the girl's cheeks had turned a shade of red and she nervously tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. It wasn't until dinner that night, when Zoe watched Alyssa knock over her wine only to call Kyle over to clean it, that she realized what that expression had been.

 _Oh._

* * *

"You're just _now_ realizing this?" Emma asked Zoe from the couch, not bothering to look at up from her phone. "Everyone and their mother knows that Alyssa has the hots for your Frankenstein monster. You should hear her at night when she's feeling 'lonely'." To Zoe's horror, Emma threw her head back, breathing deeply. "Oh Kyle, _Kyle_ ," she moaned before bursting into laughter when a pillow made contact with her face.

"She _doesn't,_ " the blonde began, though the uncertainty in her voice was obvious.

"She does," Emma sang. "You might as well get out of your pool of denial now - Alyssa has it bad for your boyfriend, and she'll do just about anything to make sure that he's hers."

* * *

Zoe had always known that she was naive. She tried to look for the best in people. Hell, she had been the same with Kyle after knowing him for less than an hour. She could still remember having argued with Madison about the boy's character, even though she knew little more about him than a stranger on the street. Maybe it was love at first sight, as Myrtle had once declared, or maybe she was just stupid and got lucky that Kyle wasn't actually a rapist. Then again, he hadn't been alive long enough for her to find out. She wanted to assume that the protective, loyal, sensitive Kyle that she knew now was the same person she had met at that ridiculous party. But she couldn't be sure - with all the magic that it took to bring him back, and Fiona's own repairs, it was hard to tell _who_ she had fallen in love with, or _what._

That being said, naivety was her specialty.

That was probably the reason why she hadn't thought to pay attention as the girls went out to celebrate that night. Mardi Gras had begun and there was no way in Hell that they were going to miss it. Cordelia even seemed to be in a festive mood as she shuffled out the door. Unfortunately, Zoe had come down with some kind of food poisoning and was confined to her bed while everyone else went to party. Well, everyone except Kyle who stayed behind to stroke her damp hair and spoon-feed her chicken broth.

"You should go have fun," she sighed. "I've never been to Mardi Gras, so I don't feel like I'm missing out. But you go."

Kyle shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Nah, I haven't gone since I went with-" his voice cut off and his gaze briefly fell on his arm - more specifically, on the small clover tattoo that graced it. He quickly tore his gaze away, but not before Zoe noticed. "I'm okay," he forced the smile back onto his face. "Sorry."

"No, I should be saying sorry," she began, but was interrupted as Kyle practically shoved the spoon in her mouth. She narrowed her eyes and slapped his arm, gaining a laugh out of him. God, how she loved his laugh. It made her heart want to leap out of her chest, and brought the most genuine of smiles to her face. "Kyle?" she started, taking his hand. "I love-"

The moment was ruined by the sound of the front door slamming and glass breaking. Kyle's eyes widened and his body went rigid. He glanced down at his watch-an expensive gift from Cordelia as he became the house's new butler; she said it was so he wouldn't lose track of time while he was with Zoe. Chores still needed to be done. "It's only nine; they shouldn't be back yet." Zoe tried to push herself into a sitting position, but was almost grateful as Kyle put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back onto her pillows. "No, stay here. I'll take care of it. Lock the door." Before she could say anything else, he was gone.

Another thing that Zoe had always despised was feeling helpless. It was one of the things she hated even when she was little. She wanted to take care of people - save them if they needed it. That was one of the things that had torn her up when Kyle had first died; the fact that she hadn't been able to save him, warn him, or even protect him from her old friend's wrath. It was what motivated her to bring him back. Rubbing her temples, she slowly pushed herself up, back against the headboard. She hesitantly picked up the spoon and forced more of the broth down her throat. Her mind was racing, certainly not helping her headache. She wanted to know what was going on below. Why hadn't Kyle come back yet? How long had it been? What was that smell-

Eyes widening, she froze in her position as she realized what she was smelling. _Smoke_. Forcing herself out of bed, and attempting to keep her balance as the room began to spin, she stumbled to the door, fumbling with the lock. As the door swung open, her eyes began to burn as she was immediately greeted with smoke. "Kyle?" she practically wheezed, hands pressing against the walls in order to steady herself. She could barely see through the haze, and stumbled just as she reached the stairs. Peeking over the banister she noticed the orange glow coming from the main room. "Kyle!" she screamed, tears pouring down her cheeks. She used the banister to pull herself to her feet, whimpering as she started down the stairs. If she could just make it to the door-

She stopped on the third step as there was a suddenly loud noise and a burst of light. Falling back onto the steps, Zoe lifted her shirt collar to cover her nose and mouth, stumbling back up as fire consumed her original destination. Where was Cordelia? Were the girls still out? Where was _Kyle?_

"Zoe!"

Hearing his voice made her heart skip a beat and she stumbled down the hallway. It seemed as though his voice was coming from one of the bedrooms. She almost fell into the room, practically crawling to the window. "Kyle?" She gripped the curtains and pulled herself up, eyes widening when she spotted her boyfriend standing just below. His blonde hair was matted to one side of his forehead with blood, but she noticed there wasn't any sign that he had been in the fire. Why was he out of the house? What started the fire? Who- There was the sound of another explosion and Zoe struggled to open the window.

"Zoe, jump!" Kyle held out his arms. "The whole first floor is on fire, you have to jump!"

Zoe nodded, gripping the windowsill and fully prepared to climb on the ledge. Then something stopped her. Her brain lost focus on the fear and rationality. She suddenly felt as though it would be _safer_ to stay where she was. It would be better if the window was closed, trapping both her and the smoke inside. Distantly she could hear Kyle screaming for her to jump, but that didn't make sense. Why would she jump when she could just stay here? Suddenly, Kyle disappeared from view, and Zoe's gaze fell on a shadow on the grounds just behind where he had been. It took her a moment, with the smoke practically blinding her and making it incredibly hard to breathe. There was another explosion, but Zoe didn't move. Her eyes struggled to focus on the figure in the darkness, and after a minute she finally recognized the long dark hair and hateful gaze.

 _No._ It took most of her strength to free her mind and return her own will. She opened the window again, coughing as she tried to suck in as much air into her lungs as possible. She could no longer see Kyle below her, but she knew she had no other choice. She climbed up onto the windowsill, the sound of crackling behind her, before throwing herself off. She was suspended for just a moment and held out her hands in front of her. She plummeted, but stopped just a second before impact. She hit the ground with a groan, attempting to push herself up but being met with a sharp pain in her wrist.

"Zoe!"

This time it was Cordelia's voice, and Zoe allowed hands to pull her to her feet. Cradling her wrist, she searched the faces of her coven. "Where's Kyle?" she whispered.

"We just saw him run back into the house," Emma spoke up, blue eyes glassy with fear. "He said that he had to get someone out."

"Someone..." Zoe felt as though everything was unraveling around her. "There was no one else, it was just-" The image of the figure suddenly appeared, and Zoe blinked rapidly before realizing that it wasn't a figment of her imagination.

Alyssa looked horrified upon seeing Zoe's face. "What are you doing out?" she all but whispered. " _You weren't supposed to get out."_

Zoe barely had time to think before her feet had her running towards the house. She stopped underneath the window she had jumped from. "Kyle! Kyle, get out! Kyle, I'm safe, _please_!" She could hear Kyle's voice for just a second, screaming her name before it was drowned out by a series of explosions. Flames burst from the windows and the house creaked. The screaming suddenly stopped and Zoe felt her heart shatter with the broken glass. She could distantly hear her own broken wails as someone pulled her away from the burning building. Her vision blurred and soon grief and horror overwhelmed her, leaving her limp in her friends' arms.

* * *

Zoe almost hadn't gone to the funeral. There was nothing left of Kyle to bury, leaving the girls to just stand amongst the ruins in broken silence. The fire was dubbed as a hate crime against the newly exposed Coven, and the girls had been able to take shelter in the abandoned Ramsey house next door. Cordelia was in the process of filing the necessary paperwork to purchase the house. It was an idea that she had after more students began arriving, yet no one had expected the change to take place so suddenly. There was nothing left; the girls had lost their belongings and their original safe haven. And Zoe had lost Kyle.

It was two days before Zoe left her new room. She shared it with Emma, who knew better than to bother her friend as she silently mourned. Zoe was broken, and being in the house where everyone had seemingly forgotten what happened on the property next door was driving her mad. She was almost grateful when Cordelia called her in.

"How are you, Zoe?" Cordelia broke the looming silence as the young witch sat in front of her. Zoe didn't bother to look up from the floor, and Cordelia didn't blame her. "Zoe, believe me, I know exactly how you're feeling right now."

"No, you don't," Zoe whispered. "Your husband went on a mass murdering spree before he was killed, by one of us, to save the lives of others." Cordelia's lips formed a thin line and Zoe swallowed down the growing guilt. She knew that Cordelia had loved Hank, though she was blind to his true nature. She had mourned greatly over his death, but it wasn't the same thing. "Kyle didn't do anything wrong. He came in to save me, and that _bitch_ murdered him." Zoe finally looked up to meet the Supreme's wide eyed gaze. "I want her to _burn_."

"She will be punished," Cordelia stated. "While she did do wrong by attempting to end the life of a fellow witch, she did not get away with that. Therefore there is no... official cause for her to be burned at the stake, however-"

"I want her _dead!"_ Zoe stood up. "She _killed_ Kyle. What don't you understand about that? Kyle was a part of this coven."

"As was Spalding," Cordelia reminded her softly. "And you murdered him without facing any repercussions."

Zoe was at a loss for words. She couldn't fathom how Cordelia could be so _blind._ Actually, she could. "If Queenie were here, she would agree. Then you would _have_ to burn the bitch."

Cordelia ran her tongue over her teeth before clearing her throat and pulling a cream folder out of the desk drawer. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I believe that Queenie is in danger." Pausing and taking a deep breath to calm herself down, Zoe slowly sat herself down. "You do recall my sending her out to Los Angeles? Well, it appears that she's gone... missing. Nothing official by the police, but I've _seen_ that she is trapped somewhere. I haven't been able to contact her in _days,_ and she never showed up to that television show. I'm worried that something terrible has happened to her."

"You want me to go find her?" Zoe blinked incredulously and Cordelia nodded her head.

"Zoe, I _know_ that you are in pain." Cordelia nudged the folder across the desk. "But I also know that being here hasn't helped the matter. Maybe it would do well for you to get away for a little bit, and this presents the perfect opportunity. We need to find out what's happened to Queenie." The Supreme sighed softly, shaking her head. "I think there's something... dark going on. And, whatever it is, I want to know about it before it comes here and we face... _another_ tragedy."

Zoe pursed her lips, picking up the cream folder and opened it with shaky hands. She had to agree - she needed to get out of the house. And the last thing that she could handle was losing Queenie too. That would leave her as the only one from her original coven. Especially now that- She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. The first thing she saw was a photo of an old fashioned building. There was something beautiful about the way it was constructed, yet the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood up as her eyes trailed over the photo.

"That is the hotel that Queenie checked into. The hotel is known for being... _haunted_ , to say the least, but I believe there's something darker and I'm afraid that Queenie's been caught up in it." Cordelia sighed, rising from her seat and coming around to kneel next to Zoe. She placed a hand on the girl's arm, giving her a smile that held a deep sense of empathy. There was so much left unspoken in the look they exchanged, but Cordelia knew that no words would ever be able to _fix_ the situation. Instead, she simply left the girl to flip through the photographs.

Zoe turned back to the photo of the hotel, holding it up with shaky hands. She noticed a figure in one of the third floor windows. It appeared to be a young man; his figure blended into the shadows and they covered half of his face, save for his eyes. Dark orbs that, for some reason she couldn't explain, sent her heart slamming against her rib cage as her eyes traveled down to the bottom of the photo.

 _The Hotel Cortez, Los Angeles, California_


	2. Dreams & Desires

James wanted to go outside.

It started with him moping. Liz had referred to it as 'the Jimmy blues'. Sally called it _depression._ James brushed it off as _boredom._ He had no interest in _anything._ There had been three new hotel guests that morning; all of them young women of about twenty-four, maybe twenty-five. James had lured each of them upstairs and ripped out their hearts before their very eyes. It was normally exhilarating; the power of life and death in his hands. He had always been aroused at the way they whimpered and squirmed beneath him, only to find true release when their blood seeped between his fingers.

This time, however, with every cut and gash he found himself growing more and more _tired._ It was highly unnatural and he was almost embarrassed when he called for Miss Evers and she was more excited than he was.

"What a marvelous piece of work, Mr. March," she trilled as she observed the young woman's face - or, rather, lack thereof. "You really have outdone yourself this time." James made his way to his chair, sinking into it and pulling out a cigarette. He watched with dull eyes as the chipper woman pulled the body out into the hall, still chattering as she came back to change the sheets. "I must say, that's four _today_ , is it not?"

James inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and allowing his head to fall back against the chair. "Oh, Miss Evers, please do me a favor and _shut up_." He could only imagine the _stupidly_ astonished look on her face before a nervous laugh bubbled from her throat.

"Of course, my apologies, Mr. March. But there was one more thing..." She paused for a moment before clapping her hands together. "Ah, yes. Your wife has requested that you have dinner with her tonight."

" _Ex-_ wife," James whispered, shoulders sagging with an exasperated sigh. His interactions with Elizabeth only seemed to get worse and he was far from interested in how she planned to emotionally torment him tonight. Pushing the thoughts away, he directed his attention to the ceiling. He hadn't noticed the way that it sagged or the crack by the light before. It was a moment of intense staring before he remembered that the hotel was _old._ That _he_ was old and _dead_ for that matter. His lips twisted into a grimace at the sad realization and he wondered if that had anything to do with his recent lack of amusement.

It wasn't that he had grown tired of killing - _no,_ he didn't think that his mind would ever possibly allow him to have any other pastime. However, he _was_ tired of killing in this blasted hotel. No, he was tired of being in the damned place entirely. At first, when he realized his fate, he had truly believed there would be no better afterlife. He knew the hotel like the back of his hand, so it would only make sense that he would remain there and continue his legacy in the place that he knew best. There was always the opportunity of seeing a new face, not to mention the _permanent_ guests, so it wasn't as though he were alone. Yet there was something missing. He couldn't quite place it, but it was this odd emptiness that resided within him.

"Miss Evers," he frowned. "Have you ever seen.. the _outside_ recently?" The question itself sounded horribly wrong and his brows drew together in frustration. The thought that there was a world outside of the hotel was surreal and entirely maddening.

The laundress blinked in surprise, tilting her head to the side before a small smile appeared on her lips. "Well, of _course._ You should see some of the television programs they have on nowadays. Not to mention, Iris keeps a newspaper and a couple of magazines, I believe, at the front desk. I flip through those every now and then when I'm not cleaning up here."

James shook his head, "That's not what I meant, my dear." He took another long drag of his cigarette, this time waiting until the smoke prickled the back of his throat before he finally exhaled. "Have you _seen_ the outside? At all. _Currently_. Have you looked out the windows or peeked out the door? Have you seen what it looks like out there? What the people look like?" The woman opened her mouth to speak, but the man quickly continued his excited ramble. "No, _Hazel_ , the guests do not count. I mean have you seen them _outside_ as they go through their every day lives? Don't you ever wonder what it's like to be out there again? In such a new world, with new things, and new people. New opportunities." He was almost breathless by the time he finished, suddenly realizing that he had moved from his chair when Hazel cleared her throat. Swallowing, James removed his hands from the woman's shoulders and stepped back. "My apologies. I'm afraid I was carried away."

"That's quite alright, Mr. March," she responded, fanning herself with her free hand. "I must say, while I'm unaware of where this sudden interest in the new world has come from, I have not bothered to make any of those attempts or ventures. I suppose I'm simply not curious, as I'm perfectly satisfied with the way that life goes on in this beautiful hotel." James deflated like a child whose dreams had just been crushed before his very eyes. In a sore attempt to make him feel better, the laundress quickly added, "But the world was sick when we were living, so I highly doubt that it's changed. I am sure you are not missing anything of importance, Mr. March." Shooting a smile in his direction, the woman bunched up the sheets and disappeared through the doorway.

James put out his cigarette, grabbing his cane and making his way out of the room. He could hear the sounds of the other guests, though their cries were unacknowledged by each other. Some were of pleasure, some of pain, and he awaited the customary sense of heat that would normally pool in his stomach as he heard his pupils take action. Yet there was _nothing._

"What's wrong with you?" he questioned aloud. He would normally feel like a god whenever he took the chance to step out of his room. This was _his_ palace, he was the king. Now, though the place was empty as usual, he felt like a stranger. Sucking in his cheeks, he made his way to the front desk, leaning against it and tapping the bell with as much nonchalance as he could muster. Within seconds Iris appeared, eyes looking even larger through her thick-framed glasses.

"Mr. March," she observed before clearing her throat. "Did you need something? We haven't had any new guests, but I'm sure some will show up eventually."

"Wonderful," James waved a hand dismissively. "Tell me, Iris, would you say that the world of today is just as sick and twisted as the world back when I was-" His voice cut off abruptly and he grimaced. For some reason his throat wanted to lock up on the word. His lips tried to form the proper vowel-consonant mixture, yet he only succeeded in appearing as though he was having a stroke and gaining an odd look from the receptionist.

"Alive?"

"I was going to say _younger."_

Scoffing, Iris folded her arms. "Well, I think it would depend on who you'd ask. I wouldn't say that your days were particularly _sick,_ from what I know," she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth a couple of times before leaning forward and lowering her voice to a whisper. "I think it may have just been you."

James' lips formed a thin line and he leaned toward the receptionist, eyes alight with a flame they had previously lacked. "I am aware that your so-called humor may be found sociable with our guests, but please remember that you _are_ replaceable and I would gladly rip your larynx from your throat should the opportunity present itself."

Iris stiffened, but was not prepared to back down. She opened her mouth to speak when suddenly someone entered the front doors. James visibly cringed at the humidity that briefly filled the lobby before making himself scarce. He made his way behind the desk, ignoring the scowl that Iris shot in his direction. He decided to make himself useful, crouching and searching for the magazines and newspapers that Miss Evers had mentioned. He found one and quickly rolled it up, stuffing it in his jacket pocket.

When he did, he completely froze, eyes locked on the guest at the desk. She was young, surely younger than the women that he had murdered earlier in the day. She had blonde hair that fell down her back, and she was constantly tucking loose strands behind her ear as she tried to converse with the woman behind the desk. James was pleased that he was visible to neither female, instead able to watch each of her graceful moves with wide, intense eyes.

"How long would you like to stay?" Iris asked, forcing a smile onto her face. James almost chuckled at the way the woman looked pained to appear so polite.

"Actually, I'm not sure." The girl responded. "I just wanted to see the area. I heard that you guys are closest to every attraction and have the best rates." Her wine-colored lips curled into a small smile and James held an unnecessary breath. "Maybe we could start with.. a week?"

"A week," Iris practically gasped. Guests rarely stayed for more than two days; especially after they saw the rooms. Her eyes darted over to where James was standing and he simply nodded though he knew she was blind to his presence. "Well.. alright. Are you paying with card?" The girl nodded and handed over her card, while James silently went around the desk. The girl had a large suitcase with her, with a small backpack. She had a casual, dark style that he was not familiar with, along with an air of confidence and mystery that intrigued him greatly. He would definitely be looking into this one. "And your name?" James paused only briefly as he headed toward the stairs, ears straining to hear the girl's quiet response.

"Zoe. Zoe Benson."

* * *

Zoe had never stayed in such a disgusting room - well, aside from that shitty hotel in Orlando. But at least Kyle had been with her. He had held her close and wrapped his jacket around her when she refused to get under the blankets. She feared that there would be bugs, which she later discovered to be correct, and fought her exhaustion the entire night. The couple instead talked - about everything and nothing at all until Zoe had forgotten her surroundings and allowed herself to sleep. As soon as the sun came up, they promptly checked out and went to the nearest cafe for breakfast. Kyle had joked that, considering Zoe had picked the motel, she could make up for it by paying for his steak and eggs.

Now she was all by herself in a strange place and a room that she wouldn't dare eat anything in. She closed her eyes, trying to pull herself together. Her initial instinct was to imagine Kyle's strong arms around her, protecting her from the unknown horrors lurking in the corners of the room. But the only thing that resulted in was tears burning her eyes which she rubbed at in frustration. This was no time for her to cry - she had to be strong and figure out what the hell had happened to Queenie. Even though she had no idea where she was to begin.

Reluctantly crawling onto the bed, she pulled out her laptop. She would research the hotel in the hopes of finding something, an article or news report, that would point her in the right direction. She soon found, however, that as much as she pushed the Enter button, Google refused to load. She brought up her networks page, sighing when greeted by the words _No Connections Found._ Her second option was her iPhone, which was still looking for some kind of signal. Groaning, she felt like the hotel was mocking her, laughing at her struggles. There had to be another way to get information. Probably less simple, but hopefully with equal results.

She would have to talk to other guests and possibly the staff - but judging from how empty the lobby was, she wasn't expecting much. Though she did recall seeing a bar. That would be the place to start. She pulled out the small makeup bag that Madison had once pressured her into buying. Pleased to have an excuse to hop off the bed, she moved toward one of the mirrors to reapply her lipstick. She finger-combed her hair and looked at her phone. It was almost seven, surely _someone_ would have to be getting a drink around now. Quickly applying some blush to her cheeks, she observed her reflection. She had always been told that she was pretty, yet she found herself to be unbearably plain. A nose that was a little too large for her liking, huge eyes that made her look like a frightened child, no matter what the situation may be, and a curve-less figure that never seemed to develop after she turned fourteen.

"This is as good as it's gonna get, Benson," she told herself, pursing her lips and straightening her back. She shouldn't have to go too far to get information from someone, but she should at least be presentable. She pocketed her phone and smoothed out her dress, grabbing her key before leaving the room. She got into the elevator running a series of possible scenarios through her mind. She had worked herself up so greatly that she actually jumped when the elevator came to a stop.

 _Pull yourself together,_ she silently ordered, heading toward the bar. She approached the counter, heart racing in her chest. The thought that Queenie had gone missing in this place was giving her the chills. There was something about the energy that made her stomach churn. The young witch sat herself down at the bar, eyes scanning over the occupants. There were a few guests chattering; a young couple, a quad of middle-aged business men, and a woman with frizzy blonde hair who looked as though she had been through hell and back. Zoe's blood went cold when the woman's glassy eyes met with her, a look of pure agony lurking in her dark irises.

"What can I get you?" Zoe looked up to see an older man-well, _woman-_ standing above her with a curious expression. "You _can't_ be twenty-one," she mused, pursing her lips. "Not that we actually follow any standards here."

"I will be in a month," Zoe admitted.

The bartender appeared surprised at her honesty, but soon broke out into a sly smile. "Well then, this will have to be our little secret, hm?" The woman chuckled as she grabbed a glass. Zoe wasn't even sure what it was, but she'd take it if it would calm her nerves. "And what brings a young thing like you to the Hotel Cortez, hm? I _adore_ a good story."

Zoe let out an airy laugh, waving her hand. "It'd bore the shit out of you. I'm just here to visit a friend and check out the area. I'm from out east and I've been living in New Orleans for a little while." The woman lifted a brow and Zoe wondered if she should have added the last part. She had probably heard about the newly publicized coven. Would that raise suspicion? Was Queenie known as a witch? Quickly grabbing the glass and forcing the bitter liquid down her throat, she changed the subject. "How long have you worked here? What's your story?"

"Too long," was the bitterly amused response. "There isn't enough time in the world for you to hear about _my_ life. Maybe another time we can exchange details, hm? For now, my name is Liz. And you?"

"Zoe." The two exchanged smiles before Zoe took another sip of her drink. It burned her throat and she could already feel her head throbbing - but, of course, that could be due to stress. "Is this place normally busy?"

"Well, it depends. We've had an influx of customers lately, since there's been the recent change in ownership. Everyone has been expecting renovations, but it's hard to knock out walls and keep the _soul_ of the place. " Liz shrugged, tipping off Zoe's drink before she could speak. "Something draws people to this place," she began, her voice holding something that the witch couldn't quite place, "and when they find out what it is, they never want to leave." Liz paused for a moment before her eyes left Zoe's face, locking on something behind her. She pursed her lips and straightened up. "Can I help you?"

"You can't," came the drunken slur of a man's voice. Zoe turned and noticed that one of the businessmen she had seen previously eyeing her hungrily. She shifted uncomfortably, looking back at Liz who had set quite the glare on the stranger. "But _she_ can." He sat himself on the stool next to Zoe, watching her carefully over the rim of his glass. "What brings you to this corner of the world, little lady? Are you even old enough for that?" He lifted a finger toward her glass.

"Sweetie, I'm sorry, but I don't think she's your type." Liz tapped her nails on the counter. "If you want a cheap date, I'd recommend Craigslist. There's a number of interesting people on there, believe me."

Zoe tried to keep her hands steady on her glass. She wanted to throw the mongrel across the room, but she knew better. She attempted to keep herself in check, but anger bubbled in her stomach as she felt a hand on her lower back.

"Listen, faggot, there are people needing drinks. Why don't you go tend to them?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Zoe finally burst, turning to look at the man. Even his appearance was pitiful. He had to be in his forties, with the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. One didn't have to be clairvoyant to understand what he was wanting. A quick fuck with a young girl who didn't know any better. Zoe could feel him undressing her with his clouded gaze. "You're not getting into my pants, so go back to your table. I'm pretty sure your friends are just as sexually frustrated as you - maybe you can have a party."

It took the man a moment, but finally his brows furrowed in disgusted realization. "You're going to regret that, bitch," he muttered before getting up from his spot. He returned to his table and Zoe could feel their eyes resting on her back.

"Well," Liz hummed, re-filling the girl's glass. She lifted her brows in amusement. "It seems you've made some new friends."

* * *

Zoe found out some of the hotel's history through Liz. The psychotic serial killer that had built it, the rumor of it being haunted with the ghosts of both he and his victims, and the way that the entire staff was suspicious of the new owner and his intentions. _"Women tend to disappear after they come in contact with Will Drake,"_ Liz had mused and Zoe wondered if Queenie had fallen victim to his rumored charm. She had so many questions, yet her senses began failing after her fourth drink and she soon became a giggling mess.

"Okay, little girl," Liz chuckled, shaking her head as Zoe gestured for another fill-up. "I think it's time you went back to your room. I doubt the owner would like to hear about an underage girl passing out drunk at the counter." Zoe opened her mouth to protest, but she knew Liz was right. She was on the verge of seeing double and if she continued she'd probably need to be carried back. "There's always tomorrow." Liz winked and took her glass, bobbing her head in substitution for a wave.

Zoe sighed, forcing herself to stand upright. The floor tipped and the room threatened to spin, but after a couple stumbles she regained control. She sent a grin in Liz's direction before heading toward the elevator. She would write down what she learned and hope she'd stumble upon the infamous owner. Mentally patting herself on the back, she staggered down the hallway. Everything suddenly became so amusing; the way the carpet almost vibrated with every step she took, how the doors fluctuated in size. She couldn't muffle the giggle that slipped from her lips as she dug for her room key, instead dropping it on the floor.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

Zoe's amusement immediately faded at the familiar voice and a hand on her ass. She straightened up and stumbled away, back pressed against the wall. The man from earlier stood with an impish grin on his face, a bottle in his hand. Behind him were two of his acquaintances.

"Don't you know what _no_ means?" Zoe hissed. "Trust me, I'm the last pussy you want." She turned back to her door, but the three circled her, one grabbing her wrist. "What the hell - Let me go!" She fought against his grip, only to have him tighten it. Wincing, she knew there'd be a bruise left behind. The threat of fear loomed in the back of her mind, her emotions spinning out of control. She could always _let_ them take her. They'd die within seconds. But, then again, she didn't want to let it go that far.

"Are you a virgin, baby?"

Zoe felt hot breath on her face, reeking of booze and something else. "Fuck you," she spit in the man's face, earning a hard slap to her cheek. Everything was blurry now. She shouldn't draw attention to herself, but she didn't think she'd have a choice. "This is your last warning, let me _go."_ The men laughed before the one holding her wrist began dragging her down the hall, no doubt to his room. "No!" she screamed, jerking her hand. The man suddenly cried out, slamming into the wall with a sickening thud.

"What the fuck, you little bitch-" Before she could direct her attention to the others, a hand clamped around her throat and she was lifted off the ground. "What did you do?! I'll kill you, you little freak-"

"Now, now, gentlemen. Did your mothers never teach you manners? That's _no_ way to handle a _lady._ "

Zoe attempted to turn her head to follow the new voice; deep with a low, suggestive growl. From the corner of her eye, she saw another man in what looked to be a suit, but he disappeared seconds later. Her head began throbbing and she clawed at the man's hand. She couldn't think straight, let alone muster enough power to- She suddenly heard a yell cut off by a disgusting gurgle before she was dropped to the floor. Gasping for air, she noticed the man who had grabbed her, now lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, hand weakly going to his open neck. She muffled a scream with her hands as she turned around, noticing the stranger appearing next to the other businessman, shoving a blade through his right temple.

"Pigs," the man spat as the man collapsed. He then made his way to Zoe, helping her to her feet. "Are you alright?"

Zoe wanted to speak, to _scream,_ but she couldn't seem to find her voice. Instead, she gripped the man's jacket and lifted her eyes to his. When she did, the world began spinning once again and this time she couldn't stop it. She opened her mouth again, questions on the tip of her tongue for the stranger with eyes so dark she felt as though she was plummeting into their abyss.

Instead she emptied her stomach onto his jacket.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ I rewrote the last portion of the chapter, like, ten times. I tried to beta it, but I always miss things so, sorry for some inevitable typos. I'm glad that you guys liked the first one! Thanks for the reviews! Also, quick note is that I'm going to try to keep James fairly in-character (judging from what I've seen) but toward the end he may be a bit out-of-character, considering the pairing and my plans for it. Buuuut he's still bat-shit crazy. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


	3. Step by Step

"Well, this is certainly a first."

Hazel held up the vomit stained shirt in disgust. "Mr. March, would you take terrible offense if I were to burn this?"

James raised an eyebrow, buttoning up his fresh shirt with a frown. "Miss Evers, do you no longer pride yourself on being able to remove _any_ form of stain?"

The laundress nodded, but her nose crinkled. "It's not the stain I'm worried about," she grumbled as she bunched up the fabric. "It's the smell." She pursed her lips. "Mr. March, if you continue to loiter here, you'll have quite the explanation to give when she wakes up."

James remained silent, eyes locked on the unconscious girl. He paid no attention to the woman's muttering as she exited. He had carried Zoe into her room and laid her in bed, but he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. Miss Evers and Liz had quickly cleaned up the mess he had left behind. James couldn't get the expression Zoe wore when she saw him out of his head. He had witnessed many reactions from those he encountered. Most were of fear, some of interest, and many of pure anger or irritation. Zoe's eyes held something different. When she had looked at him, fingers desperately digging into his arms, she looked _sad_. It was as though she had seen something in him that broke her heart. To say he was troubled was an understatement.

Then again, the girl had been completely plastered. He could only imagine what Liz had given her. Had he arrived any later, she would have been in the hands of those imbeciles. James couldn't have that - no, that porcelain skin would only be marked by _him._ He frowned, his mind drifting back to the deceased bastards who had attempted to spoil her. One of them had already been down; his neck broken and an unattractive dent left in the wall. His eyes trailed over her figure; she was lanky, if she had any form of muscle it was hidden from view. Regardless, there was more than met the eye with this one and _oh_ how excited he was to discover it.

Zoe groaned quietly, turning on her side so her back was facing James. He fought the urge to run his hands over her skin, his knife later following the same pattern. He didn't know what it was about this girl - what drew him to things he couldn't comprehend. He wanted to touch her, to corrupt her, to- His thoughts were interrupted when he caught sight of the clock resting on the dresser.

He had twenty minutes.

* * *

James would always make an incredibly large fuss about his dinners with Elizabeth. He would make sure the room was clean and candles were lit to disperse the scent of blood and sex. He'd put on music and his best suit, making sure he was properly groomed. He supposed it was because he was under the impression that _maybe_ if he appealed to her outer-aesthetic nature, she would come to love him. It was ridiculous, as he knew she would never love him as much as he loved her, if at all, but he still had _hope._

 _"_ Darling," he drawled as the door swung open. The smile on his face came naturally and as much as he wanted to mask it, he couldn't. Elizabeth didn't return it, the corners of her mouth lifting only slightly as he leaned in to kiss her cheeks. "I'm afraid I don't have a brilliant meal prepared, I was.. distracted and dear Miss Evers had her hands full. And you know I've never been that great of a cook, but-"

"James, you're babbling again," Elizabeth sighed, gliding toward the table. James practically skipped after her, pulling out her chair. "Maybe if you could develop some _self control..."_ Her voice trailed off, but she didn't need to finish. She wasn't blind to the way that James' shoulders fell and his eyebrow twitched. James had always had the desire to control _everything_ and he attempted to do so by playing God. Unfortunately, the one thing that he never could get a grip on was his _hunger,_ his _impulse._ Sometimes, it almost terrified him and oh, how Elizabeth _adored_ reminding him and playing with his weaknesses.

James' lips twitched into what was intended to be a smile but came off as a grimace. "I suppose that's another thing to add to my 'poor skills' list. Cooking, self-control-"

"Marriage."

Watching her ruby lips curl made James want to rip them off. _Self control,_ he reminded himself, fingers curling atop his thighs. He took a shaky breath, biting down on his lip before another eager smile played at them. "Darling, why don't you tell me about your most recent trip outside?" If he were to spend over an hour with her, he wanted to get something other than _regret_ out of it. "What did you do? Where did you go?"

"Donovan and I found another young couple. They were unfaithful; him with her sister, her with his father. Can you imagine?" She took a sip of her wine. He was always so interested in the deaths; how she did it, where she did it, _why_ she chose those people. It was one of the few conversation topics that they could both find some interest in - though he was always far more excited about the gory details. "Slit her throat in front of him and he practically begged, _begged_ for me to end his life. He tasted like guilt. Pathetic."

James' smile widened and he still bounced in his seat, eyes bright with anticipation. "That's... wonderful, dearest. But I was more... curious about what it was like." _Out there,_ he almost added, but noticed the way that Elizabeth's gaze changed.

She arched a brow and James fought the urge to disappear underneath her scrutinizing stare. " _What it was like?_ It was the same as every other kill. After a while the fun disappears and seeing the weakness in humanity becomes _annoying."_ James didn't seem to be satisfied in her answer and she pursed her lips. "Jimmy, darling, you're acting strange. Is there something you'd like to talk about in particular?" Her opinion on most of the humans she encountered was low. They were indeed irritating, with their lack of appreciation of life and death. They were weak-minded and weak-willed. So easily scared and so easily breakable. Yet there was one thing that she had always found even more tedious and confusing than the superfluous mortal population - her ex-husband.

James' eyes locked on the tablecloth. He was completely silent for a moment, leading Elizabeth to consider the need to repeat herself. Yet, just as she opened her mouth, he spoke. "I'm sorry, my love, I'm not sure what's wrong with me. You know how I get when I go on a bender; emotions, thoughts all scattered and whatnot - nothing is where it should be."

Elizabeth hesitated before pushing herself away from the table. "Maybe we should cut this dinner short, then?"

"What?" James almost tipped over his chair in his rush to get to his feet. "No, I'm quite alright. Do sit back down. _Please._ " There was some desperation in his voice; a sign of humanity and weakness that only ever emerged when he was around her. "Please don't leave. Not yet. Have a drink with me."

Elizabeth gave him a smile, but it wasn't the genuine beam that he had seen on her face only once. He missed it terribly. This smile was one that an adult gave a foolish child. "Obviously your mental state is continuing to deteriorate, Jimmy. I'm surprised it's taken this long. Maybe you should lie down."

"Elizabeth-"

"Oh, there _was_ something that I wanted to speak to you about," Elizabeth hummed as she strode towards the door. "I was wanting your opinion on something. How would you feel if I were to.. re-marry?"

James froze in his place, eyes wide and glued to her back. He lost his ability to speak for a moment and when he regained it, it was far less steady than he had intended. "Are you?"

She laughed briefly, tilting her head but not turning around. "I've met someone. You'll find out next month."

James' eyes fell to the floor, brows drawing together. He was confused. Elizabeth? Re-marry? Who? What? _Why?_ "Well, that's-that would be _wonderful_ for you." It took most of his strength to smile. "Do I know him? Do you love him?" The question came out before he could stop it, but he truly wanted to hear her answer. "Why, I didn't think you would find it in you to love again."

Finally, she turned, eyes cold and calculating. She was waiting for him to make his move. To lose control, as he always did, and throw a tantrum. To break things, to scream at her, to cause a commotion. But he didn't move. He was a statue. And there was something that she loved about how absolutely broken he looked though he tried to feign strength in a forced smile and rigid posture. "How would you feel if I did?" He didn't respond and she chuckled, turning and opening the door. "Goodnight, James. I'll see you in a month."

"How would you feel... if I did?" James finally asked.

Elizabeth paused before glancing over her shoulder. "If you did what?"

"If I were to suggest the same thing. You would... truly feel nothing?" His expression grew serious, but he didn't know why he bothered. It was an unrealistic hypothetical. She didn't care for him - she never did. Elizabeth turned once again and her eyes met his. She couldn't translate what she saw in them and, though it troubled her, she had no intentions of showing him pity.

Instead, she smiled. A genuinely amused smile. "I won't ever have to worry about that, James," she stated as though it were obvious. "Most people don't run _to_ the darkness, they run _from it._ One thing that I learned during our time together was that wherever you step, Death will follow. Besides," she refused to look at him as she pulled the door shut behind her. "How could anyone love a monster?"

* * *

When Zoe opened her eyes she wanted to scream. The light peeking in through the curtains did nothing for her pounding migraine. She didn't want to get out of bed, which was saying a lot considering that she swore she felt something run across her foot. It took a moment for the sensation to process, but when it did, she flailed so violently she tumbled out of the bed entirely. Groaning with her face pressed against the smelly carpet, she felt a wave of regret rush over her. She hadn't had that much to drink in such a long time, it was a poor judgment call. With the support of the dresser, she was able to get to her feet, bringing a hand to cover her aching eyes.

"You dumbass," she whispered, images of the men from the previous night flashing behind her eyelids. Their cruel laughter and poisonous smiles filled her mind. Then suddenly _blood_ , the sounds of bones breaking, so much _blood_ , and those _eyes._

Zoe covered her mouth, the reality of what had taken place finally hitting her. She had _killed_ a man on her first night at the hotel and the stranger in the suit had killed the others. Panic filled her and she searched her purse for her phone. The device still had no service and she let out a frustrated cry that resembled a sob. "Shit, shit, _shit._ " She sat on the bed, dialing what she hoped to be Cordelia's phone number. The last thing that she wanted to do was bring more attention to the coven and if that man had seen her kill her attacker, there was no telling what he would do with that information.

"We're sorry, but your call cannot be completed as dialed-"

Zoe slammed the receiver down, running a hand through her hair. "Calm down," she told herself. "He's just as guilty as you are." The image of the strange man appeared in her mind again. The way he so easily took the lives of those men had her experiencing a series of internal conflicts. She was indeed grateful for his assistance as, though she hated to admit it even to herself, she had been to weak to take them all down. She shuffled to the mirror, noticing the ring around her neck from the man's hands. _You little freak._

Zoe closed her eyes, attempting to look at the situation rationally. Obviously the cops didn't know, or else they would have broken the door down by now. She was still no closer to finding Queenie, she couldn't just make a run for it when her friend could be in even more danger. She would have to take a risk.

She was pleased at her fashion choices; turtlenecks and other high collars would be her best friends until her bruises faded. She kept her face free of makeup this time, not wanting to attract the wrong company _again._ She tucked her phone in her pocket and grabbed her key, taking a deep breath before opening the door. She expected to see confused guests and possibly yellow tape - yet there was nothing. There were no blood stains or body tape - only a young man, who appeared to be a worker, eying the small crack in the wall. Zoe was almost relieved when she saw it - at least she wasn't crazy. The man noticed her staring at it and took her wide-eyed expression as confusion.

He gave her what she assumed to be a reassuring smile before shrugging. "Dumb kids."

Zoe swallowed as he turned away, ducking her head and leaving the scene as quickly as possible. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she rapidly pushed the button for the elevator. When it opened, she hesitated, greeted with a man clad in black with messy hair. His charcoal lined eyes trailed over her and her hands balled into fists at her side. Not _again._

"Are you getting in?" He asked, raising a brow. "I don't bite." An amused smirk played at his lips and, to avoid suspicion, Zoe attempted to mimic it before stepping inside. As much as she tried to direct her gaze everywhere but at him, she could feel his eyes on her. "What brings you here?"

"Why is everyone so curious about my life?" she responded, glancing at him. His brows lifted in surprise and she shrugged. "I'm visiting a friend, checking out the area. The location's convenient."

"Sounds scripted," the man responded, a playful edge to his voice.

Zoe froze. _He's joking, don't let him get to you._ She shrugged again, scoffing. "Is that what you say when something's boring? Because I agree." The man chuckled and she released an inaudible sigh of relief. "What - are you a spy or something? Your story must be more interesting."

He was quiet for a moment before shrugging. "I live here. I have for a while. It's not so bad when you're on top." He sent a wink in her direction as the elevator stopped on the main floor. "Let me know if you wanna check it out some time."

Zoe watched him saunter off, waiting until he disappeared through the front doors before letting her head fall forward. Her heart had threatened to burst out of her chest; it had been so loud, she wondered if even he could hear it. She ran her fingers through her hair, directing her attention to the lobby. She spotted Liz watching her from behind the desk and almost grinned at the familiar face.

"Well, you're alive," Liz began nonchalantly. "But I suggest, if you want to stay that way, you keep your distance from Donovan." She nodded towards the doors.

"Is he a friend of Will Drake?" Zoe pressed, recalling his offer.

"Oh, honey, not in the slightest." Liz smiled, placing a hand on her hip. "I'm surprised you're up before two. With all that booze in you, I thought you were a goner for sure."

"Almost," Zoe admitted with a small smile. "You're good at making drinks, though." Liz shrugged, but Zoe could see the smug pride in her eyes. "How are you with coffee?"

* * *

Zoe focused her attention on the warmth radiating from her cup. It warmed her hands and seemed to clear her mind. It reminded her of mornings at the school, in their period of peace. Zoe would wake up in an empty bed, yet there would be the smell of coffee drifting into her room. It brought her a sense of tranquility as she knew what she was to encounter when she went downstairs. Laughter, smiles, happiness, no worries. She sighed as she gazed into the dark liquid. Now it only reminded her of how she felt. Dark, void, empty.

"Maybe take a break from the drinks for a while," Liz suggested after watching the girl stare into her cup. "We have Sprite, Ginger Ale, Coke-"

"It's not that," Zoe hummed, not lifting her gaze. "Last night, did you see those men follow me?"

Liz pursed her lips before nodding, absently wiping down the bar. "I saw them leave just moments after you did. I had a bad feeling, so I made a call. Why-Did they try to come onto you?"

Zoe nodded, taking a sip of her coffee then pausing. "You made a call?" she echoed. "The man that... There was someone that came to help me. I didn't see him while I was down here. You called him?"

Liz shrugged and her nonchalance was only causing Zoe's curiosity to grow. "He roughed them up a bit, then called the police. They were taken into custody."

"What?" Zoe's brows furrowed and she felt as though her headache was returning. "They were arrested?" _So much blood, not a stain to be found._ She shook her head. _Dumb kids._

"Of course. We don't simply let those kinds of people get away here," Liz laughed as though the idea itself was preposterous. "Don't worry, you shouldn't face that problem again."

"What was his name?" Zoe frowned at her coffee and Liz gave her a curious look. "The man who.. roughed them up and called the police. I only caught a glimpse of him."

Liz was quiet for a moment before clearing her throat. "His name is James. He's rather... well-known. He's an interesting man." Zoe didn't even have to speak, only raising her eyebrows as she silently urged the tender to continue. "Well he takes great pride in this hotel. He's one of our longest residing guests currently. He does have a bit of a temper. But he means well." She paused. "Or not."

 _Longest residing guest..._ Zoe could barely contain her excitement. "So, he'd know a lot about the hotel?"

"Oh honey," Liz chuckled. "There is nothing about this shithole that he doesn't know."

"Do you know what room he stays in?" Zoe could feel Liz's eyes on her and she quickly forced a smile. "Well, I mean... Would it be too weird if I said 'thank you'? I mean, he _did_ save my life. Basically. Maybe I could bring him, like, a bottle of wine or something?"

Liz smirked and reached under the counter. "Oh, he has enough of that." Instead of a bottle, she pulled out a small box. "Give him this. It'll at least get you in the door."

* * *

Zoe felt deafened by the way her heart thudded with every step she took. She wasn't sure what made her more nervous; the fact that she was going to approach a strange man who, while everyone seemed to be denying it, she was pretty sure killed two men - or the fact that the same man might hold all the answers she was looking for. Regardless, she mustered the courage to knock on the door, numbers glaring at her. She was greeted with silence but as she lifted her hand to knock again, the door swung open. She almost jumped at the sight of him, her vision much clearer than it had been on their first meeting.

"Oh, it's _you."_

His low voice had shivers racing down her spine and his beautifully dark eyes seemed to stare straight through to her soul. There was something about them that she _knew,_ yet so much that remained a mystery. It took her a moment to find her voice and finally she pulled the box from her purse. "I wanted to, um, say thank you. For what you did last night." He seemed to tense up, giving her just the response she had hoped for. She _knew_ she hadn't imagined it. "Liz told me you beat them up and called the cops."

He appeared relieved and a small smile formed on his lips, eyes dropping to the box. "Would you like to come in?"

Zoe smiled, stepping inside and handing the box over. "Liz said that you'd be into that. I'm not... actually sure what it is," she admitted.

She took notice of the way he turned his back to her when he lifted the lid. She heard him hum before he set the box down on the mantle. "Would you care for some refreshment? Water, tea?"

"Um, water's fine."

"I do believe introductions are in order," he drawled upon his return, handing her a glass."I'm March. James March."

"Zoe Benson."

Zoe suddenly felt as though his eyes were piercing through her exterior; diving deep into her soul and searching for every single secret that she was trying so desperately to conceal. She couldn't seem to tear hers away from his, suddenly feeling as though she was standing on a thin tightrope, losing her balance with every second that passed.

"Well it's pleasure to officially meet you, Miss Zoe Benson." James lifted his glass in her direction, a smile forming on his lips. The small dimple that accompanied it did not go unnoticed.

And then, Zoe was falling.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:**_ Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter! Was going to reply to some but my connection currently hates me. Not particularly proud of this chapter, but hey! At least there will be Zames(?) in the next one! I apologize for some ooc!James. Is he in character? Hell, is Zoe in character? Who knows. I should write some Zyle. Or Violate. Is there too much Violate? Will I ever make a decision on anything? Stay tuned.


	4. Acquainted

"We're screwed."

Liz looked up to see Iris rushing toward the front desk. She raised her eyebrows as the shorter woman grabbed her arm and pulled her into the back room. " _Excuse_ me?" Liz snapped, eyes falling on the woman's pudgy fingers. "Have you been drinking?" She paused after the statement, noticing the sweat beading up on Iris' pale forehead and the way she trembled. "Have you been _feeding_? Sweetie, I thought we discussed this. As much as you 'don't want to kill unless necessary', you have-"

"It's not that," Iris shook her head, gaining a puzzled frown. "It's that _woman."_ She glanced behind her as though expecting the subject to burst through the doors. "She's going to get us all killed."

"That is a risk that we have been taking for over twenty years," Liz hummed, waving her hand and preparing to head back to the desk. Iris grabbed her wrist and Liz sighed. "Honey, if you're on something, I don't want any part in it. It's been a _long_ day and I'm tired."

"You don't understand," Iris whispered. "This time she's _actually_ going to get us killed. If not by her own hand, then by that black vampire's, or her serial killer husband's, or that witch she's got locked up in the basement."

Liz froze before slowly turning around. "Okay, _repeat._ "

"Ramona Royale is locked up on the fourth floor," Iris began. Liz's eyes widened and she shifted uncomfortably. She had always liked Ramona, but she knew that it was far from her place to show any form of compassion to the people Elizabeth had deemed enemies. "She's getting small feedings, but she'll be ravenous in a week's time. If she were to be let out, she'd kill everything in sight."

Liz pursed her lips. "Fair enough. You said something about a witch?"

Iris nodded frantically. "Remember that large black girl that checked in not too long ago? Turns out she's a witch." Iris released Liz's wrist in order to display her palm, revealing a small scar still in the process of healing. "I came in on her reciting some type of-of spell. Called her out and she stabbed a pen into her hand. Didn't even flinch but," she wiggled her fingers, "had me bleeding in seconds. Elizabeth said something about witch's blood being powerful. I don't know what she plans to do with the girl, but I didn't like the way she said it."

Liz lifted a hand to rub at her temples. She wouldn't be surprised if Elizabeth had some master plan that would undoubtedly not bode well for the rest of them. As much as she had given to others in the past, the Countess had only become exceedingly selfish within the last decade."And when you say 'serial killer husband'," Liz began, raising her eyebrows. "What's he got to do with any of this? You know he just sulks in his room all day long. He's not our concern."

 _"_ Is that what he was doing when he killed those men the other night? Hell, he asked for the man's finger in a box _,"_ Iris threw up her hands and Liz rolled her eyes.

"Yes, yes, ring and all. The man was married and you _know_ how James likes to collect those kinds of trinkets."

"He's a ticking time bomb," Iris practically yelled.

Liz glanced at the door before slamming her hand over the receptionist's lips. "Everyone and their mother knows that James March is unstable. It's on Wikipedia. What's your point?"

Liz cringed when she felt Iris' tongue on her palm, the latter giving her a briefly smug smile before continuing. "I don't care if he wants to kill some ditsy teenage girls on the weekend - that's just his version of 'fun'. But what are we gonna do when the Countess marries that homosexual who bought the hotel and he goes into a fit of jealous, homicidal r-"

"Marries?" Liz interrupted, holding up a hand. "Elizabeth is _marrying_ Will Drake?" It made sense, of course. If Elizabeth wanted to find herself back in a world of riches and have the hotel _officially_ in her name, she would only achieve that by marrying the new owner. She understood a bit of what Iris was saying now. If James Patrick March had any real emotions at all, they were _jealousy_ and _rage_. To flare up both when so much was already going on would not have the most pleasant results. An image popped into her head and she drummed her nails against her cheek. "Well, I know of a solution to at least _one_ of those problems." Iris shuffled her feet uncomfortably and Liz couldn't help but roll her eyes. "What else is there? Spit it out now, missy, I haven't got all day."

"There _is_ one more thing," Iris admitted quietly. "It's tied in with the last one, about March. And a few of the other residents." Liz gestured for the woman to continue, suddenly feeling anxious at the way she constantly skirted around the truth. "It's about the hotel and it's... barriers."

* * *

"You're not from around here."

In the past half hour, Zoe had learned very little about James March other than what she observed. He was a possible alcoholic, judging from the stocked wine cabinet he kept wandering to when he was in need of a refill. He was jittery when he spoke, reminding Zoe of Madison when she started sneaking coke into the house. There was also the fact that he talked and looked like a character out of one of those old black and white movies Zoe vaguely recalled watching with her parents a few Christmases ago.

And yet she was already drawn in.

Maybe it was because of his striking brown eyes that tugged at her heart strings every time he looked at her. Or maybe it was the way that his smile sent heat rushing to her cheeks. It could have even been the way that his accented growl of a voice both sent chills down her spine while simultaneously causing her heart to skip a beat.

"What gave it away?" was the smug response as James took a sip of his drink. "Oh wait, do let me guess. I look like I've fallen out of an old movie; completely out of touch with the modern world."

"You do stand out," Zoe admitted, barely hiding a smile against her glass. She wasn't sure when she had gone from water to whatever it was James was pouring, but it made conversation a hell of a lot easier. "You can't blame me for being curious."

"I suppose not," James raised an eyebrow. "I'm from Massachusetts. Boston, to be exact. The accent, however, came from an old professor. Though, now that I think about it, he was old back when I knew him, so it must make me seem unbearably ancient now." He silenced the thought that he _was_ unbearably ancient to a twenty year-old woman.

"It's unique," Zoe commented, catching the man's attention. "I like it." And she did. The way he enunciated his words and drew them out as though giving them more meaning than they originally possessed - it was oddly comforting. His resemblance was striking enough; his voice was one of the things that kept her grounded on who he was. Who he wasn't. "What brought you to L.A?"

"Money. The prospect of starting my own business. Of having a new life with a happier ending than the one planned out for me back home." A bitter smile resided on his face and Zoe decided, not wanting to end the meeting abruptly, not to question him further. "This hotel brought me a great fortune for a little while. It was rather blissful." He gazed around the room fondly, soaking in the momentarily surprised awe on the girl's face.

"You owned this place?"

"For a time," James replied. "Of course, as much as I put my everything into this fortress, a building is a building. It goes to the highest bidder and when the time came I had been dealt a bad hand."

So, Will Drake bought the hotel from James. She could tell by the bitter edge to his voice that he wasn't too pleased about the matter and she briefly wondered if it played in her favor. She also wondered about the age of the man standing in front of her - he looked young enough, but she knew better to assume. "Can you tell me anything about the new owner? You've talked to him, right?" She noticed the way he looked at her, searching her face as though looking for a question within the question. "All I know is he's rich," she added quickly. "Is he gonna put Wi-Fi in this joint?"

James pressed his lips together. He had no idea what Wi-Fi was, but he didn't think that he wanted it in his hotel. "He is indeed rich. But by _luck,_ not effort," he spat, setting a glare on the mantle. "He wants to rip the soul from this place. The bastard has whore after whore disappearing into his room," he muttered through his teeth.

Zoe followed his gaze to the ceiling and immediately thought about Donovan and his comment about living 'on top'. "Oh," she shifted slightly, "so he's kinda like the guys from the other night? Always looking for a cheap fuck?"

James finally brought his eyes to Zoe and she tensed up at the anger that seemed to lurk inside them. "Will Drake is a monster. He's a pretentious slob that does not deserve nor appreciate anything that has been given to him. He doesn't deserve this hotel, the masterpiece that it is. He doesn't deserve to sleep on that bed, with that _beauty_. The only thing that man deserves is a barrel to his temple and bullet lodged deep in his-"

James froze, suddenly aware of the girl in front of him and the volume of his voice. Her eyes had grown much larger than he thought possible and, though she wasn't moving, he noticed the way she gripped her glass and dug her nails into the arm of her chair. She wasn't frightened at his sudden outburst, she was _prepared._ It was unlike anything James had ever seen before. He half-expected her to grab a gun or throw the liquor in his face and make a run for it like the others who saw the _less welcoming_ side of him. But no, she sat there, breathing deeply, but softly, watching him cautiously as though fully expecting and ready for him to lash out.

"My apologies," he finally forced through his teeth, regaining his composure. He swallowed down the anger that still bubbled within him, the shock and confusion brought on by his guest slowly replacing it. "I'm afraid that I'm not yet used to the change in ownership. The Cortez has been mine for some time now," he murmured as he went to go get another, much needed, drink. "If you can imagine having something that's become a part of you being ripped away, it's-well, it's-"

"It sucks," Zoe finished for him, relaxing a bit. She was pleased to know that he hadn't noticed the lamp on the far table suspended, just waiting to crash into the back of his head should he even so much as take another _step_ toward her. She had long since learned how to handle situations like this. Still, she understood his anger. Her experience differed, but she assumed that the same feeling could be shared regardless of what or _who_ you had lost. "It really fucking sucks."

James seemed to calm down a bit, almost amused at her choice in words. "Indeed, Miss Benson," he began as he made his way to her, filling her glass again as well. "It _really fucking sucks." Z_ oe's lips naturally curled up into a smile as the phrase left his lips and James' brow quirked at the sight. He suddenly felt, well not _calm,_ but less angry. He didn't feel judged; the more common response that only succeeded in making him angrier. It was something about the way she smiled at him, looking at him as though his murderous thoughts hadn't just been voiced aloud, but as though they had been carrying a normal conversation the entire time. It made him feel _odd,_ to say the least, but he didn't particularly _dislike_ it. "But enough about me, what about you? You aren't from around here either."

"What gave it away?" Zoe joked, combing her hair out of her face. "I'm from out east. Baltimore, to be exact." It was weird to say; she hadn't thought about her home in so long.

"Aha!" James exclaimed, almost startling the girl. "I knew it." He seemed awfully proud of himself and Zoe couldn't help but laugh at his immature excitement, more-so relieved that his previous upset seemed to have been forgotten. "It's rare for Angeles natives to come to the Cortez," he explained. "They know the history. They keep their distance. It's the _naive,"_ he lifted his glass toward her, "out-of-towners who choose to stay here 'out of convenience'."

Zoe gave him an incredulous look, taking another sip of her drink to mask her smile. "You're telling me that people are scared of this place because of, _what,_ a serial killer who died, like, eighty years ago?"

James returned her look with interest, accompanied by a wicked smile. "Are you saying you're above the supernatural?" Zoe almost choked on her drink, but James took her coughing as muffled laughter. "Miss Benson, do you not believe in ghosts?"

"I've met my fair share," Zoe admitted, choking further at her honesty. Normally she would have kept her mouth shut on the matter, but she told herself the liquor had a tongue of its own. "Why, are you going to tell me this place is haunted, _Mr. March_?"

James chuckled, but it sounded more cynical than amused. "The only thing this place is haunted by is bad memories," he stated. "People fear what they don't understand. They're ignorant, they _choose_ not to see what's standing in front of them.'" His voice sounded so serious for a moment that Zoe fell silent before smiling down at her glass. "Do I amuse you?"

Zoe sensed the threat of anger lurking in his tone so she quickly shook her head. "Not you." She thought of the coven and all the hate the innocent witches received after they came public; few had tried to understand them, instead choosing to fear them and lash out. She thought of Cordelia's persistent obliviousness. She thought of Alyssa, her selfishness and _him. "_ People can be so.. stupid. So fucking blind to just-everything. They hate what they don't understand. It scares them." She glanced up at him. "I thought nobody understood. But then I find the one person who _does_ and he's some strange guy in a haunted hotel who looks like he just fell out of a 30's mobster film." She sighed, the ghost of a smile lingering on her lips as she ran her fingers through her hair. "Fucking hilarious."

Zoe wasn't sure when James moved in front of her, but suddenly they were face-to-face, his cool breath hitting her face. She froze and was almost sure her heart stopped beating as she met his gaze. "Miss Benson, you are unlike any woman I have ever met." Zoe gave a half-hearted scoff and attempted to look away, but he wasn't finished. "But there's an _emptiness_ in you. A void. A sadness accompanied by _anger_ that I haven't seen in a very long time."

Zoe reluctantly returned her gaze to his. Before she could stop it, her hand lifted and hesitantly went to his hair. The man tensed, watching her every move. Zoe held her breath as she weakly combed her fingers over his gelled locks, causing some of them to drape across his forehead. Her eyes widened and she went to brush more down but his hand suddenly shot up and caught her wrist.

The two stared at each other for a moment before Zoe fell back to reality. She inhaled sharply, attempting to yank her hand from James' grasp, but his grip only tightened. "I-I'm sorry, I just-" her voice cracked and she pressed the back of her free hand to her lips. Her eyes filled with tears.

When James saw the glassiness build up in her eyes, he dropped his hand and straightened up. He fished in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a handkerchief and a case of cigarettes. He handed her the handkerchief before lighting a cigarette. "Why are you here?" he asked quietly.

Zoe looked up at him in bleary-eyed confusion. "I.. wanted to say 'thank you'?"

"Why are you at the _Cortez?_ " James finally snapped. The demeanor she had mistaken for 'caring' had disintegrated and was quickly replaced by frustration. "You aren't a reporter and yet you have so many questions. You don't work for Mr. Drake or else you wouldn't be _here_. Obviously Liz didn't send you up here to _die,_ so what do you want? Be honest."

He spoke so hurriedly that Zoe had to take a moment to process each of his points. Did he just say _die?_ "You..." she blinked through her blurry vision, shaking her head as though trying to gather her thoughts, "killed those men, right?"

James hadn't expected that. A second passed before he offered a slow, "Would you be scared if I had?"

That answered her question. "No," she admitted. "They deserved to die. If you let them walk away, they would've just found someone else. Someone.. weaker." Someone _not_ possessing the gifts that would have played in Zoe's favor.

James almost looked like he didn't believe her. He expected her hand to slip into her purse as she distracted him, but she didn't move. She simply took another sip of her drink before standing up. James' eyes never left her, he was fully prepared to grab the knife from his jacket pocket should she try anything funny. "Why are you _here,_ Miss Benson _?"_ he asked again.

Zoe could hear a voice hissing _weak_ in the back of her mind. She knew she was. But how could she not be? James was so familiar and yet so different. It would be impossible for her not to keep coming back to him after this and, judging from the way he was looking at her, he knew it too. He just didn't know _why._

"I lost something," Zoe admitted, placing his handkerchief back in his hand. It was vague, but true.

"I came to get it back."


	5. Instability

Elizabeth March had never been one to admit to when she didn't know what she was doing or when she had done something wrong. After over eighty years, this still hadn't changed. She had plans, big plans, for her future - she just wasn't completely sure what they were. Currently, her life seemed to be just as chaotic as it had been way back when. She was in bed with two men; one she cared for, one she didn't.

She absently combed her fingers through Donovan's chocolate locks, sighing softly as he curled up into her side. Times like these it was hard to look at him as anything other than a boy. He always delivered well, she'd give him that. She had, only briefly, doubted that he would even show up that night, based on her request. Donovan had once made the request that she never call on him to join her in her escapades with other men unless they weren't going to live throughout the night. That being said, she went out on a limb to ask him to help her _fiance_ finish.

 _Marrying a man who prefers another man,_ she taunted herself, carefully slipping away from the two men. _How far have you fallen, Elizabeth?_ It was almost embarrassing and, had she not been so desperate, she wondered if she would be able to go through it. Of course, she'd have to if she wanted to go back to the life she once adored. As much of a travesty as her marriage with James had been, at least she had been surrounded by riches. James had given her everything her heart desired, provided she remain quiet about his dark hobby. And then he became greedy and things dwindled.

She grabbed her silk robe, shrugging it on then going to pour herself a much needed drink. Things would be much easier this time - there were benefits like life insurance, pensions. If her husband were to meet a tragic end the night of their wedding, at least she would be set. Not to mention the hotel would be back in her name and she would be back on top.

She just had to figure out what she was going to do about everything else.

James would be angry, no doubt. She wasn't looking forward to their next meeting, but she had a number of weeks before she had to worry about that. She had already taken care of Ramona. She knew the black beauty would want to keep her from finding any sense of happiness and, while Elizabeth certainly didn't _love_ Will, she couldn't have him exposing her or dying before schedule. Then there was the girl downstairs.

The Countess wasn't sure what she was going to do with the black witch, it had been so long since she had even _seen_ a witch. She made her way down the steps quietly as to not startle the young woman, who would undoubtedly be angry given her captivity.

"What the hell do you want, bitch?"

Elizabeth smiled. She had expected at least that. "I wanted to see how you were doing. Do you need anything?" The witch eyed her warily, struggling a bit within her restraints. "I wouldn't bother with that. Did you really think I would just tie you up in plain rope that you could so easily escape? I'd get comfortable." The girl didn't say anything, instead setting a glare on the woman in front of her. "Now, I'm sure you're... hungry. Would you like anything in particular? Maybe I'll order you a pizza."

"Why, so you can poison it? Don't waste your money."

The Countess shrugged lightly, taking another sip of her drink. "I'm not going to kill you. Yet. It's far too soon. You're my backup plan, that's all. Until you're needed, I at least have the decency to keep you healthy."

"Why? What are you planning on doing with me?"

Elizabeth laughed, gliding over to the apprehensive girl and lifting her glass to her. "Because if my original plan makes a sharp turn south, at least you'll make a extraordinary meal."

* * *

When Zoe opened her eyes, she knew something was wrong.

She was still in her dingy room, but something had changed. The room was colder, the lights dimmer - a sense of apprehension began knotting up in her stomach.

"Hello?" She slowly pulled herself out of bed. The bathroom door was closed, something that she was sure had not been her doing. She approached the door with hesitance, slowly reaching toward the knob. Just as she touched it, she heard a loud thumping sound. She stumbled backward, eyes wide with fear. "I know you're in there," she finally said. The thumping continued, almost rhythmically. "I'm not the person you want to rob," she started quietly, though something told her this wasn't a burglary. She lifted a shaky hand, again approaching the door. "You have ten seconds to open this door," she tried to sound threatening, but the thumping only continued. She counted ten of the thumps before waving her hand. The door swung open and Zoe screamed.

"Kyle?"

The scene was too familiar, though she remembered the setting being a bit different. Kyle was wearing the dark sweater she had last seen him in, but he was covered in blood and repetitively banging his head on the side of the stained tub. Zoe felt the floor threaten to tilt under her feet and she fell to her knees. _This isn't possible,_ her mind screamed at her, but it was all so very real. _Kyle's not alive_. Her head was pounding, trying to pull her back to reality, but her body betrayed her. She hesitantly lifted a hand and placed it on her lover's cool cheek. "No, Kyle," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

The blonde suddenly stopped his self-punishment, looking up at her with the wide, dark eyes she had loved so much. His lips parted slowly, "Kyle," he echoed. "No, Kyle."

Zoe felt tears run down her cheeks at the simple, yet familiar phrasing. He was _really_ here, it was _really_ him. Before she could truly comprehend the situation, she had thrown herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She wouldn't let him go this time. He didn't try to hug her back, but she didn't really expect him to. "You're okay," she whispered into his hair, closing her eyes. His golden locks still smelt like Kyle; a musky scent, even with the blood caked into the curls. "I missed you so much," she sobbed, pressing kisses to his ear. "You're okay."

Kyle moved his head a bit and Zoe could feel his lips ghost over her neck before they lingered over her ear. "Why..." he started out, voice cracking. "Why'd you let me die, Zoe?"

Zoe's eyes shot open. _No._ "What?" The sense that something was wrong returned and she tried to pull away to look at her lover, but Kyle had finally locked his arms around her, making it impossible for her to move. "Kyle, what-what are you saying? Let me go-You're hurting me!" Her bones threatened to crack as he tightened his grip on her and Zoe swallowed down a sob.

"Why'd you bring me back if you were just gonna let me die again? Why didn't you let me die the first time if I meant nothing to you?" The musky scent she had been relishing in suddenly grew stronger, reaching the point where it was hard for her to breathe. It no longer smelt like Kyle, it smelt like _smoke_. With this realization, Zoe heard a loud noise come from behind her. Suddenly the bathroom was on fire, but Kyle didn't move. He didn't budge, holding her firm to where she was. "Why didn't you _do_ something?" he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I came back to get you and you just stood there and watched. You let me die. It's your fault. _Again._ Both times you just _stood there."_

Zoe could feel the smoke entering her lungs, the flames crackling in her ears. Her eyes began to burn and she desperately tried to push at Kyle's chest. "Kyle, please. I wanted to-I didn't know what to do. I was scared. Everything happened so quickly. Madison-Alyssa, they-Kyle, please _I can't breathe_." Zoe felt heat against her hands, and when she pulled them from Kyle's chest, she noticed melting blood and flesh coming away with them. The golden curls her face pressed against began to dissolve into ash, being replaced with burnt skin. A scream ripped from her throat as suddenly Kyle pushed her down on the hard tile. As he stood, she noticed the fire licking his body. It scorched his clothing, the fabric melting into his charring flesh.

"You left me, Zoe!" She tried to push herself into a corner, the flames surrounding her. Her screams went unnoticed, and she could see her lover's dark eyes glaring at her through the flame. She could feel the heat eating at her arms and legs, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Kyle. Or what used to be Kyle. He was disappearing into the fire, his voice becoming more hysteric and pained as he continued his accusations. "You said you'd never leave me! You think he'll be like me? You think you can replace me with _him?_ You think you can run away from death by going to him?"

"Stop it!" Zoe finally wailed, shutting her eyes. Immediately the crackling died, the heat dispersing. When she opened her eyes, the bathroom was in tact, no evidence of a fire. "Kyle?" she whispered. There was no sign of him ever being there, no blood on the tub or the floor, no ash. Body trembling, she gripped the tub to bring herself to her feet. She looked down at her hands. They weren't burnt, as she had feared. She slowly made her way to the mirror. There were no burns on her body that she could see. Her appearance was as plain and untouched as she remembered. She let out soft, shaky sigh. It had just been a dream. A vision. A _hallucination._ She was safe. Then she turned around and her heart threatened to stop beating.

Kyle. Bloodied and burnt; his flesh dark and peeling from his face. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat. Tears poured down her cheeks as she fought for oxygen. "You think you can run away from death?" he whispered, blood pouring from his lips. "Look into his eyes. The eyes you love so much." Kyle pulled her close to him and she watched as his body began to crumble, the fingers around her neck turning into ash. "He _is_ Death."

* * *

"Please, please don't hurt me."

James really did hate when they begged. At first it was appealing, it made him feel so much more _powerful._ But after a good twenty minutes it was simply maddening. Always _don't hurt me,_ and _you don't have to do this._ No, he _did_ have to do this. He had to find some sanity _somewhere_ and, as of late, he could feel what he had remaining slipping away from him. Yes, he certainly _did_ have to do this and _was_ going to hurt her. He was going to hurt her in ways that she couldn't imagine. He was going to have _fun_ with this one.

"Shut up," he sighed, sliding on his gloves. The girl whimpered, fighting against her restraints as he redirected his attention toward the table. "There's no need for that," he hummed. "Don't you know it's bad manners to be loud when someone is trying to work?" When he turned to her again, he had one of his favorite knives in hand. She let out an almost ear-piercing scream and James could feel his left eye begin to twitch. "What did I just say?" He forced through his teeth. Women were so tedious. Most of them, anyway. The knife clattered as he threw it back onto the table. This one was threatening to ruin all his fun. She was far too noisy. "Fine," he grumbled, and the girl held her breath.

"You'll-You'll let me go?" she asked hopefully.

James responded by grabbing a nearby vase and smashing it against the girl's head. He tilted his own, waiting until she let out a shuddering breath. Good, still alive, but much quieter. He smiled to himself; he never let anyone go - obviously she didn't know him. He then went to rummage through one of his drawers. His smile widened when he found the small box. "Aha!" He held the kit up, shaking it gleefully. "Problem solved." He pulled out the hooked needle, sliding the wire through it with ease. He returned to his victim, climbing on top of her and cupping her chin. "Oh so pretty," he sang. _Just not as pretty as_ her.

* * *

"Miss Evers!"

The woman rushed into the room, an eager smile playing at her red lips. She had already heard the girl's screams and had been waiting for him to call on her. She had fresh linens and a new shirt fully prepared. She was pleased to know that James was back to his old self, she had been worried about him for a time. He seemed so off lately, so different. Like something was lurking underneath the surface, a worn thread threatening to split.

"Yes, Mr. M-" Her eyes widened and her smile faltered with her hopes as she took in the scene. Blood had been splattered over the walls, and a trail of it streaked the floor. It led to the small sitting area, where James was comfortably perched in his chair, blank gaze focused on the mutilated body he had set on the coffee table in front of him. "Oh _my._ " It had been quite a while since he had made such a mess; he normally tried to keep things contained. _Easier for you to clean,_ he had once told her. Now, not only had he practically destroyed _two_ rooms, but he seemed to be so completely oblivious to the ordeal it had her quite shaken.

James didn't look up. He didn't move, and the laundress almost wondered if he had heard her or not. "Miss Evers, this room looks absolutely revolting," he stated after a moment. He stood up slowly, eyes not leaving the remains on the table. "Do take care of it while I bathe, would you? Her organs are by the closet, don't forget them," he added before finally tearing his gaze away and heading toward the bathroom.

"Of course, Mr. March, but-Are you-Are you alright?" Miss Evers stammered.

Finally, he turned toward her and she actually took a step back at the expression he wore. The glint in his eyes wasn't threatening, but lost. The smile that accompanied held an eeriness that sent chills through her entire being. "I don't know," he admitted as though it were obvious, before disappearing into the bathroom.

* * *

Zoe woke up with a jolt, sitting straight up in her bed, hair matted to her face with cold sweat. "Just a dream," she whispered, hoping that saying it aloud would convince her that it hadn't actually been real. The room looked like it was back to its normal, disgusting state. No odd temperatures or strange lighting. She slowly got out of bed, her legs threatening to give out on her as she circled around it. The bathroom door was cracked open this time, but Zoe didn't hesitate to almost rip it off its hinges as she lifted her hand.

To both her and her heart's relief, the bathroom was empty. There was no sign of her dead, or undead, lover and certainly no sign of a fire. Her legs chose this time to give out on her, and she let out a broken sob as she hit the floor. She ran a shaky hand through her hair, trying to catch her breath and calm her frantic heart. "Just a dream, just a dream," she repeated. As much as she willed the images away, they still permeated her brain. She felt sick, and her mind threatened to shut down. She couldn't have that, no. She didn't think she could bear another dream should she allow unconsciousness to take over.

She didn't know what had brought on the sudden nightmare. She had bad dreams before, but nothing like that. Nothing so _real._ Was it brought on by guilt? But the guilt of what? She had been living with the guilt of Kyle's deaths for years, why would it suddenly come upon her now?

 _You think you can replace me with him?_

It was almost as though the whispered words had shoved an icy knife into her chest. She imaged the Kyle she had seen near the tub; innocent, lost, taking out his frustrations on himself because he didn't know how else to react. Then she thought of James; over-confident, dark, mysterious James. She hadn't known him long enough to even _consider-_ but she had. She had taken one look at him and already her mind had made the decision to use him to fill her emptiness. But even as much as James resembled Kyle physically, and shared his unstable thought process, Zoe knew they weren't the same. Kyle was quiet, funny, and sweet. James was outspoken, loud, and possessive. His humor was dark, his personality violent. It wasn't the same.

She was interrupted by the sound of thumping. Startled, her eyes went to the bathroom, but she saw nothing. Then it came again. It was a moment before she realized that it was a knock at the door. Fear coursed through her and she struggled to get to her feet again. She stumbled toward the door, stopping to grab a small butter knife. She held it just at her side. She wasn't expecting anyone, and she sure as hell wasn't going to have another experience like _that._ She counted to ten, the knocking growing a bit more persistent. Finally, she opened it, knuckles turning white.

"Oh," was the tactful response. James blinked, eyes traveling over Zoe's horrified face before landing on the knife at her side. "Should I come back another time?" he offered, fighting the amused curiosity tugging at his lips.

The knife hit the floor and Zoe lifted her trembling hand to tuck a blonde wisp behind her ear. Of course. Of course it was _him. He_ would show up when she was still shaken and broken. "What are you doing here?" she finally asked, voice a weak whisper. She wanted to tell him to get the hell out, to blame him for all the guilt and frustration. Yet she thought she noticed a sliver of concern on his face, underneath the veil of pure curiosity that sparkled in his eyes.

He avoided the question, taking in her disheveled appearance. He was quite taken by the way she trembled, by the fear, the guilt, and the _anger_ that still lurked in her caramel eyes. In her lost state, James believed he had never seen anyone so beautiful. He extended his hand, lips stretching into a cheshire grin.

"You look like you need a drink."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Can we talk about the _James March - Feral Love_ video that has been my sole inspiration for the last week. I'm gonna try and slide in more of the plot with the other characters and Queenie, but I did wanna add more of Zames so it doesn't seem like I'm just tossing them together after a day or two (even though Zyle happened after like an hour). As usual, apologies for another un-beta'd chapter. Hope you enjoyed!


	6. Hidden Fears

**1910**

"James, what have you _done?"_

The ten year-old looked up, startled. He hadn't even heard the pantry door open. "Father," he started, quickly standing up and trying to hide his mess behind him. "I can explain!"

The tall man narrowed his eyes and in one swift move, he knocked the small boy to the side. Behind him were two baby kittens lapping at a small bowl of milk. They had made quite the mess, tearing up parcels and unraveling bags. He scowled, eyes going back to his son. "What did I say about bringing animals into the house?"

"It's cold!" James protested, moving to stand in front of the small creatures again. "They would've died if I were to just leave them—" His voice was cut off as a hand struck his face. Tears sung his eyes and he barely had time to process the burning in his cheek before his father's fingers curled into his hair. "Father, _please!"_ He didn't know why he bothered pleading, he'd rather the man beat him than the animals anyway.

"I'm sorry," the boy tried, but he was thrown to the floor. He scrambled into a corner as his father pulled out his toolbox, absently reciting verses as he dug around. James' lower lip began to tremble as the man pulled out a crop. "Please," he tried meekly, . "I just wanted—"

"Ah, ah, ah." His father wagged a finger at him, a small smile playing at his lips. " _The Lord is my shepard, I shall not want._ You're disrespecting Him, Jimmy. You're _weak_ , boy. Weak to the temptations of the earth." the man claimed, grabbing the child's wrist and pulling him to his feet. He held up the whip, ghosting it over James' cheek. "I'm going to make you strong again. Now, strip."

James hesitated only briefly before shutting his eyes and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Tears rushed down his cheeks by the time he slid off his pants and slowly turned around. The first one was always the worst, he told himself. His father would wait for what felt like ages before actually delivering the hit, always taking James by surprise and signifying that the torture had begun. He could hear his father yelling at him, telling him to _repent_ for his sins. For his disobedience. He was disappointed, God was disappointed. James could only scream. It made his father angrier, made him hit harder, yell louder. He beat the boy until his skin was torn and his legs gave out from underneath him. He would make him stronger. Eventually.

* * *

When James opened his eyes, it was bright. He had clearly remembered the sun being down when he had been taken into the bedroom, but it appeared he had been lying on the cold floor for hours. As if on cue, he suddenly became aware of the welts and sores decorating his body. The pain kicked in all at once and it took all of his strength to keep from screaming. He knew he wasn't supposed to scream — he wasn't supposed to cry either, but he had mastered the silent trembles and tears. He refused to move, his skin feeling as though it was going to split if he did.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, whimpering and fighting to steady his breath. The pain didn't cease, but he grew tolerant enough to force himself onto his feet. He gathered his clothes from the floor, the fabric stinging his skin as he put them on. He would have taken a bath, his normal routine, but he didn't think he could make it to the bathroom. He would sleep, maybe for a short time before breakfast, in the comfort of his own—

James froze as he reached his bed. He had almost forgotten why he was punished in the first place, but now he was clearly reminded. Tears began to blur his vision, but he could still see _red._ It stained his blankets and his pillows had drowned in it. He felt his stomach lurch and he swallowed down the bile that burned his throat. He thought that his father would have gotten rid of them. Of course he wouldn't be so kind.

James shakily extended a hand, choking out a sob when the pads of his fingers met with the soft fluff he remembered doting over before. One of the kittens heads was resting on his pillow, the rest of its body dismembered and scattered about the bed. The other one had been so brutally torn to shreds, it was simply a mess of fur and bloodied remnants. This time he heard the door open, and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle his crying.

"You'll learn, James," his father murmured. "To respect and obey." James managed a nod, and suddenly a hand clapped down on his throbbing shoulder. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, teeth sinking into his flesh until a metallic taste filled his mouth. " _H_ _onor thy father and mother._ "

* * *

 **2015**

There were not many things that scared James March. In fact, he often claimed that nothing scared him at all. He had always preferred that _he_ be the cause of the terror for others. To show fear was to show weakness, and James was certainly not weak. However, underneath the sadism, the power hungry cravings and homicidal tendencies, there _was_ something that occasionally frightened James.

Himself. His mind and the thoughts inside it.

What James really feared was losing control. He wasn't the type to blame his dark acts on some voice in his head, or prompting from the devil. He was aware of what he did, and he enjoyed doing it. Or, at least, he thought he did. Killing had become natural, it was a second nature to him. He could look at a person and immediately know how he would take their lives. Strangling, stabbing, bashing, a bullet to the brain — those were just the basics. There was so much possibility and James wanted to explore every one. It was one of the things about his that made what he did so alluring. He had life in his hands, and he could take it away without thinking twice. He had _complete control._

Then she had to barge in.

With her doe eyes and subtle smirks, Zoe Benson was exactly James' type. It was no surprise that he targeted her. He imagined his hands around her slender neck as soon as he laid eyes on it, her large eyes growing glassy as she tried to breathe under the pressure. He thought of how her dainty figure would write underneath him, a blade later following the invisible trail his lips left behind. He would drag it out, play with her. He would have her wrapped around his finger before he completely destroyed her.

And then something changed.

He hadn't expected her to be different. To have a sense of humor that he understood, or intelligence, determination. Certainly hadn't expected her to harbor the same anger at the world and the ignorance in it that he did. He hadn't expected to _enjoy_ her company. Maybe he was just lonely — it had been so long since anyone had paid him the same attention. He hadn't had to trail after Zoe as he planned, she came to him. She _wanted_ to spend time with him, get to know him. Most importantly, she _wasn't_ afraid of him. Even with the knowledge that he had killed two men directly in front of her. Even with his uncontrolled outbursts, voicing homicidal thoughts that he tried to keep locked up.

What made the situation so frustrating was the fact that now James was caught in something that he _truly_ didn't understand. Something that _threatened_ how much control he had over himself.

James March was supposed to be the textbook definition of a sociopath, criminology professors referenced him in their lectures. He lacked sympathy, empathy — one couldn't murder such a multitude of people if they felt _bad._ After Elizabeth, after her betrayal, James concluded that his father had been right about _one_ thing. Emotions were the equivalent to weakness. To allow yourself to _feel,_ especially for another person, was a sign that you were headed down a road of helpless self-destruction.

And yet here James was, trying to understand why, after ten minutes of meeting her, he had just sewn a woman's mouth shut, cut off her hands and ripped out her intestines and uterus and yet Zoe Benson was very much alive and untouched on the lower floor.

 _Four days,_ he had told himself when he first saw her. He would let her live for four days, much longer than he granted any of the other females that so blindly wandered into his path. Four days in itself felt like over a week. It was the Cortez's way of selfishly toying with her residents. Today was the _sixth_ day and he hadn't laid a hand on her.

Normally, he was excited. He was eager to follow through with his fantasies, ecstatic to make them a bloody reality. Now, he was hesitant. His fantasies with Zoe were blurred. The concept of tearing her apart wasn't as arousing as it had been and that alone made him nervous. It made him lash out.

He hadn't planned on killing that girl. He really hadn't. Then again, he rarely ever _planned_ on killing someone — he just did it. There was something about this time, though. Something that made him sick to his stomach about the mess he had created. He wanted to a prove a point. He wanted to prove that he wasn't going _soft_ , that he was still the James Patrick March people feared. He was still one of the first and most successful serial killers of all time. And no Baltimore blonde was going to rip that persona away from him.

He knew what he had to do. But now he struggled with whether or not he could actually do it.

It had only been _six days._ And yet something about Zoe Benson was making him weak.

He was losing control.

* * *

"Do you believe in Hell?"

James blinked, the question taking him by surprise. Zoe hadn't said anything since he took her downstairs, and he certainly hadn't expected _those_ to be her first words _._ "Yes," he admitted. "Though not in the traditional sense." He pulled out his cigarette case, offering one to the blonde before lighting his own. "I don't think it's run by a man with horns and a tail," he chuckled. "I think hell looks like the world we know. It _is_ the world we know. I think hell is different for each person..." He paused, leaning back in his chair. He suddenly felt like the hotel walls were closing in on him, reminding him of where he was. "Some people don't even know they're there."

Zoe hadn't expected such an in-depth response. She wasn't even sure she had seen James so serious since meeting him. She knew something was wrong, but sh also knew better than to pry just yet. She occupied herself with her cigarette, leaning forward as James held up his lighter. She watched the flame closely, sighing when it went out. "I think I was there this morning," she admitted quietly. She recalled her trip to hell when she was performing the Seven Wonders. Now that she thought about it, it was quite like the experience she had earlier. Her worst fears, her built up emotions; they came to life with no other purpose than to her.

"You did seem shaken," James hummed, his curiosity captured. Zoe certainly was an interesting woman — far more unique than any he had encountered in the last century. "What did you see?"

Zoe hesitated. Part of her wanted to tell him, but she couldn't seem to find a sentence that wouldn't make her sound absolutely insane to any normal human being. _"Well, you see, you happen to look like my dead boyfriend and I think, because of that, I'm attracted to you. These feelings_ — _they're probably not even real. Anyway, I hallucinated that said dead boyfriend was trying to kill me this morning because of my own pathetic guilt."_ Yeah. That would go over well. Finally, she decided on shaking her head ever-so-slightly. James looked disappointed, so Zoe quickly put on a smile. The subject had been on her far too long. "Do you even own a pair of jeans?"

Startled, James pulled a face. "What—Miss Benson, I must say, if you are trying to put me in an equally sour mood by insulting my choice in apparel—"

"I'm not _insulting,_ " Zoe rolled her eyes. "I'm done talking about my problems and just curious as to why you always look like you're about to head to some Roarin' Twenties-themed dinner party."

"This," he gestured to his suit, "is far from dinner party attire." He gave her an incredulous look. "This is more suited for, I don't know, a walk in the park."

Zoe couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. One thing she _could_ admit, for sure, about James was that he had an interesting sense of humor, to say the least. The mood had already significantly lifted, in her opinion, and she was grateful for the distraction. "When was the last time you went to the park?" she joked, but she noticed the way James stiffened. She blinked, pursing her lips. "James, do you even—I mean, do you even _have_ any other clothes?"

James glared at the table, then at her. "If I may, I believe your venture into hell proved to be a far more interesting conversation topic."

Okay, that was a no. Zoe stared at him in disbelief. "How old are you again?"

James' eyebrow twitched. "Twenty-five." Give or take ninety years.

Zoe raised her eyebrows and put out her cigarette. She hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Why don't we go shopping?" James didn't respond, but his glare dissolved into something less readable. "I mean, not like... a date or anything," she added, fearing that his response was due to her inferring something that he wasn't prepared for. "I mean, I think it'd be good for both of us to get out of the hotel for a bit, right? And you probably know Los Angeles better than I do."

Oh yes, the Los Angeles from 1924. He had no idea what was outside the hotel, he wasn't even sure he knew what businesses were on either side of the building. "What's wrong with the hotel?" James' voice was low, but Zoe could sense the upset lurking just underneath the surface.

"What? Nothing, I just thought you might wanna—" Zoe watched as the man's demeanor changed entirely. His back stiffened and he set another icy glare on the table. "Are you okay? Did I say something?"

James was, oh-so-desperately, trying to keep himself in check. There were _people_ in the lounge, he had to keep his temper at bay. But _damn,_ was it difficult. He wasn't angry at Zoe, no. He was frustrated with himself for having allowed himself to fall into this situation. Had he just _killed_ the girl when he initially planned, he wouldn't have to worry about tedious things like her wanting to leave. The hotel was growing exceedingly selfish each day and James had no doubts that, while she would retain the pitiful receptionist and charismatic bartender, Zoe would have no recollection of the man in front of her when she came back. Even from a thirty minute shopping spree. But then again, why should he care if she remembered him or not? Of what importance was she other than a new toy? But, she was more than that, wasn't she? No. Maybe? _Shit_ , not again.

"I don't need new clothes," he finally managed to force through his teeth. He felt his head throbbing and his thoughts became a jumbled mess. He had been doing so well, he thought. Now, he could feel everyone staring at him. The guests, Liz; they were all watching him. Waiting for him to take one wrong step. Judging him.

"Are you scared?"

James suddenly plummeted back to reality. He opened his eyes, focusing on Zoe's face. The paranoia, the hatred, the rage - it settled, dissolving into confusion and unease. She wasn't apprehensive, she was, again, prepared for his sudden change. She was also _concerned._ About _him._ That was something he was certainly not expecting, nor was he used to.

"Scared of what?" he asked, trying to remain indifferent.

"Of leaving the hotel," she finally offered. She slowly extended her hand, placing it on top of his. "I get it. I've heard of people like that. Agoraphobia, right? Fear of going outside?" James blinked at her, an incredulous expression settling on his features. She took his blank look as confirmation and gave him a small smile. "I can go myself, you know. I could pick you up a couple tees. If I keep the receipts and you don't like them, I can take them back."

James was fairly sure that he had no idea what she was talking about. Tea, receipts — her voice was distant. His gaze was focused on her hand; her pale, dainty hand that she had draped over his as a comforting gesture. She was trying to make him feel better, to fix him. She _cared_.

But she was so _wrong._

James pulled his hand back. He stared at it for a moment before he closed his eyes. He inhaled slowly, remaining silent for what Zoe thought felt like an hour. Finally he laughed. It started out as a breathy, almost _wheezing_ sound, but it soon escalated into a full blown laugh. This time Liz actually _did_ look at him. She hadn't heard the owner laugh _like that_ before, and something about it was unnerving.

Zoe stared at him, suddenly feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable. Definitely far from what she had expected. She had pictured this ending with a hug, maybe a little more emotion. She was anticipating tears, maybe even another outburst. But laughter that danced along the lines of a hysterical cackle? That had not been in consideration. "What?" she asked hesitantly. "I'm serious, if you're too scared to go outside then I can go get you—"

"I'm not afraid of the outside, Miss Benson." He said it as though it were obvious, the amusement still in his eyes.

Zoe almost felt offended, but it was really out of embarrassment. Maybe she had misread the signs — well, _obviously_ she had. "I mean, I just thought—I wouldn't blame you if you were. The world can be a scary place."

James sighed. The thread was wearing thin. He was definitely in need of another cigarette, and possibly a drink. "Miss Benson, I will be completely and utterly honest with you." He plucked another cigarette from its holster. "You have more to be afraid of in this very room, than you do if you step outside the front door."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Well, I was trying to have a James-centric chapter (though it probably won't be the only one) that may have shed some light on his feelings and plans relating to Zoe. That being said, it is incredibly confusing to try and write _feelings_ for someone who has very little and also happens to be mentally unstable. I was trying to add that little bit of confusion and craziness into the writing, but I really think it's a mess.

I also wanted to reference the show where James said that his father would "kill a cat for purring too loud" and the Ten Commandments aspect (which will have a point, considering it has much to do with James' thought process). If you also noticed, I made James 5 years younger (I think Tristan said he was born in 1895, well now it's 1900) for the sake of Zames having less of an age-difference. Kind of. Sort of. Not really. He's still old as hell.


	7. Gradually

Cordelia had a migraine.

As far as she could tell, no painkillers would resolve it. Stress induced and growing stronger by the minute, she didn't think that Tylenol was going to to do the trick. She found herself in the greenhouse, but even the familiar area didn't hold any comfort.

She was at a loss. She hadn't been able to contact Zoe in over a week and that terrified her. She had been less tense when it came to Queenie. The girl was still trying to find her place amongst the coven. She still felt as though she was being ostracized, even with the addition of a sixteen year-old Haitian witch. It hadn't surprised her much the first week that Queenie failed to contact her. But Zoe was different.

Not only was the situation different, since Zoe had a specific purpose in going to California, but there were also higher things at stake. Part of Cordelia regretted sending Zoe, but she had run out of options. The girl was emotional, which left the chance of her judgment being clouded by her grief. Not to mention, Zoe was _important._ The risk in sending _her,_ out of anyone, was much higher than Cordelia was comfortable with.

And now _she_ was missing as well.

"Pick up the phone, Zoe," Cordelia mumbled. Her fingers had already memorized the number and would type it instinctively without requiring thought. Her breath hitched when the ringing stopped momentarily, and she prayed that the girl's familiar voice would sound on the other end.

"We're sorry, but the number you are trying to reach is unavailable and the voicemail box is full—"

Cordelia exhaled sharply, her eyes stinging with tears. Her head began to throb, mocking her frustrations. There was no way she could go after her—there was no one to watch the girls and, in light of recent events, there was no way she would allow them to come along or, even worse, stay at the house alone.

"Still can't get a hold of her?"

The Supreme straightened, trying to ignore the pulsing in her temples as she turned to face the small intruder. "Don't worry, Emma," she tried her best to sound reassuring, but her voice was as shaky as the rest of her. "I'm sure Zoe's fine."

Emma shifted her weight from foot to foot, watching the woman closely before sighing. "You know I'm clairvoyant, right? Lying to me—pretending to be strong—it's not going to work." She took a hesitant step forward and Cordelia noticed how aged her face suddenly appeared. The girl was only seventeen, and yet she held such a mature countenance about her, something that only _worry_ could produce. The elder witch sighed—Emma was just as concerned about her friend's disappearance, and yet she only knew half the story. "You're scared."

Cordelia pressed her lips together, her eyes falling to the table. A momentary period of silence passed between the two women before, finally, Cordelia nodded. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "I am."

"Why?"

The question was simple, and to be expected, and yet Cordelia struggled on how to answer. "I think there is a darkness... Wherever Queenie and Zoe are. It's the only explanation as to why I'm blocked from contact with either of them."

"But they can handle it, right? I mean, Queenie's a human voodoo doll and when Zoe gets to her, they won't be the pair to mess with." She tried to sound reassuring, even putting on a smile, but Cordelia only shook her head.

" _If_ she gets to Queenie. We don't know what's happening out there. I can't get a hold of either of them—as far as we know, Zoe is being held captive by the same people or _thing_ that has Queenie." The Supreme lightly brushed at her cheeks, hoping to catch any stray tears before Emma noticed. "I just feel so... Helpless."

Emma sighed before slowly making her way over to the older witch. She placed a comforting hand on her arm, still trying to deliver a smile. "Hey, they can take care of themselves. They're probably too busy kicking ass to answer the phone." Her words did nothing to settle Cordelia's nerves, but the woman still smiled at her attempts. "They'll be fine. Besides, Zoe's strong. She can handle almost anything."

Cordelia let out a soft sigh, finally facing Emma. "Almost."

* * *

 _Thump. Thump. Thump._

Zoe could practically feel every hair on her arms and neck stand up in fear. Ice seemed to shoot through her veins and her heart was slamming against her ribs. The sound was coming from the bathroom, and even though she knew what was waiting for her, her feet still carried her toward it.

 _Kyle._ Her mind screamed the obvious, trying to warn her to get away while she still could. But her eyes never left the bathroom door. The thumping grew louder with each step she took and her sight suddenly blurred as hot tears gathered in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, praying that he could hear her from the other side of the door. "I'm so sorry." The thumping continued, drowning out her apologies. Her heart was racing and fear was knotting up her stomach. Still, her fingers curled around the doorknob. It burnt her and she cried out, but couldn't pull her hand away from the searing handle. She shut her eyes, willing it all away, but even so, his voice still rang in her ears.

 _Why'd you leave me, Zoe?_

 _Why'd you let me die?_

The room suddenly grew warm, the temperature increasing with every agonizingly slow second that went by. She could hear the flames crackling in the distance, telling her that it was only a matter of time.

 _Why, Zoe?_

Zoe felt a sudden rush of cold air, and when she opened her eyes there was a hand resting on her own. Her eyes widened. She _knew_ this horror. She knew how this played out—it was the same every time. Well, it used to be. _This_ was different. There had never been anyone else involved except for her and Kyle.

The hand somehow managed to pry her fingers from the doorknob and she forced her eyes to look at the face of the man it belonged to.

"James." His name left her lips in a soft breath and it lingered in the air as her eyes searched his. She suddenly felt _safe._ The crackling, the accusations, the noise — everything _stopped_ as soon as her eyes met his.

"You look like you need a drink," he murmured coyly, lifting her injured hand to his lips. He kissed the back of it twice before letting it go, his hands going to cup her face. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I won't hurt you."

And she believed him. Something about the low drawl of his voice soothed her fears and drew her closer to him. She could almost feel something pulling them together until her body pressed against his. The corner of his mouth quirked up, the smirk contrasting with the wide-eyed look he set on her. A million thoughts, warnings, and pleads rushed through her head, but were quickly silenced when James pressed his lips against hers.

The heat returned, though this time it was internal. It started in her chest and sent a tingling sensation rushing through the rest of her body. A surprised beat passed between them before, finally, Zoe relaxed. She let James kiss her and kissed him back in a manner that expressed every emotion she had been bottling up.

Then he pulled away.

Zoe swallowed down her screams. James' eyes no longer held the mixed emotions and secrets that Zoe had fallen for. The darkness had consumed it all, leaving his eyes nothing more than black pools; empty and soulless.

A second later he burst into flames.

* * *

Zoe needed to pull herself together.

She wasn't sure when it had become _natural_ for her to find herself outside James' door. She was fairly sure that, during her short stay, she had spent just about every day with him, for what seemed like hours on end. It was weird, and somewhat unlike her, but she mentally placed the blame on her grief causing her to do strange things. Besides, James was a much needed distraction.

He always looked somewhat surprised to see her, as though he was always preparing himself for someone else to be knocking at his door. He also looked relieved, but he quickly masked both with a Cheshire grin as he beckoned her inside, his traditional greeting being the offer of a drink.

Part of Zoe dubbed that it was far too soon for her to be even thinking about these kinds of things—whatever it was that crossed her mind when she spent time with James. It was too soon for James to be entering her dreams and producing an almost unfaithful-like guilt in her stomach by the time she woke up.

Still, it didn't stop her from melting under his gaze.

"You've seriously never been to Disneyland?" Zoe arched a brow as she took a sip of her drink.

Their conversations always seemed to go along the same path. James knew what questions to ask to keep Zoe talking. She would tell him about her favorite things, good memories—before the supernatural chaos, which she had still neglected to mention—bad school experiences, and a few tidbits about herself that she was pretty sure he didn't even care about. Really, she knew he wanted the subject focused on her. Or anything but himself. That only made the curiosity grow.

James released a low chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat. "No, Miss Benson, I have not been to Disneyland." He waited for her to make some comment about how she would, one day, get him to accompany her to the theme-park but, to his surprise and relief, she focused on another part of his statement.

"Are you ever going to use my _name_?" Zoe sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. "It's _Zoe,_ if you forgot."

James took a long drag of his cigarette, directing his gaze to the ceiling. "I know your name, Miss Benson." He paused, pressing his lips together, and she snorted. "It's a habit, I suppose. How I was raised. It's meant to be polite. Manners."

Zoe gave him a small smile, "It's not really helping your I'm-Stuck-In-The-30s case." James didn't respond, but he finally let his blank gaze fall on her. "Are you going to tell me that bit, at least?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," James stated, getting up and going to refill his glass.

"Oh, c'mon," Zoe quickly got to her feet, following after him. She leaned against the cabinet, giving him an expectant look. "I've told you more about myself than I've told, like, anyone in the past five years. You know my favorite Disney movie and, like, secret obsessions." The corner of James' mouth quirked up in an amused smirk, but he didn't respond, preoccupied with his drink. "The only thing I know about you is that you're... Different, to say the least."

"Different," James echoed, raising a brow. "Do elaborate."

Zoe knew that he was just trying to get her to continue talking, that he had no intention of sharing anything about himself. Not today, at least. "C'mon," she sighed, bumping his arm with her glass. "At least tell me _something._ One tiny thing about yourself. Favorite color? Favorite song? Favorite... TV show?"

"I don't watch television," was the response. James gave her a blank look, Zoe motioned for him to continue. "No, that was it. You asked for something. I don't watch television."

"You're such a douche," Zoe groaned.

James' hesitated before narrowing his eyes. "Was that meant to be an insult, Miss Benson? I can honestly say that no one has called me a _douche_ before."

"It was," Zoe stuck her tongue out at him, taking childish pride in his briefly offended expression. "Look, I'm sorry," she grumbled, setting down her glass. "I just really, _really_ want to get to know you." Her playful demeanor evaporated and she rubbed at her face. She wasn't sure _what_ was wrong with her, really. Her emotions were everywhere, her thoughts a mess—not to mention her nightmares were constantly on a replay in the back of her mind. And with their newly added scene, being around James seemed to make everything so much more complicated.

"Are you alright?" James' voice was hesitant, maybe somewhat concerned but Zoe wasn't really sure. She shook her head, then nodded, then shook it again. "Why don't you sit down?" His hand was on her arm and she let him lead her back to her chair. "Would you like some water? Tea? Something?"

"No." When she looked up, she noticed how uncomfortable James looked. He shifted his weight, watching her carefully. He was at a complete loss as to what to do. "I'm fine," she assured him, but it didn't seem to relieve the tension. "Look, it's just—I can't... Really describe this in a way that won't make me sound like I'm crazy."

James seemed to hold his breath at that, and he slowly made his way to his chair. After sinking into it and releasing an almost painfully long sigh, he motioned for her to continue. "I'm listening."

Zoe wasn't sure where she was to begin. She felt hypocritical—there were things that she still wouldn't tell him. "I just... really want to know you. I can't remember the last time I was able to sit down with someone and have, like, a normal conversation." Free of witchcraft and murders, of course. "I guess I'm just... really excited to feel normal again. I don't really get that often. I like talking to you, James. I just, I guess, wanna know a bit more about the person I'm spending all this time with." She paused and forced a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. "I mean, I guess, worst case scenario, I could always Google you. I know if you Google me, you find some shitty blog posts from, like, '09."

James' expression turned stony, and Zoe saw something flash through his eyes before he closed them.

 _Your name is James Patrick March._

 _You were born in 1900._

 _You're the greatest serial killer of all time._

 _I Google'd you._

James suddenly felt the beginnings of a headache and opted to remain silent on the matter entirely. Zoe took his silence as a cue to leave and immediately stood up.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, looking at the floor awkwardly. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I should probably get going." She mentally punched herself as she made her way to the door. She figured she should head downstairs, talk to Liz, maybe get some sense smacked into her. "I'll see you around."

"I wanted to be an artist."

Zoe froze, hand on the doorknob. She blinked a couple of times to ensure that she wasn't hallucinating. She slowly turned around. James hadn't moved, but his eyes were open and burning holes into the carpet. "Sorry, what?"

Finally, he brought his eyes to meet hers. "When I was eight, a neighbor bought me a painting kit. I wanted to be an artist." His voice was calm, contrasting with the tense atmosphere. "The first piece I was truly proud of, though, I made when I was seventeen." He had been mugged after cutting through an alley downtown. He always carried a knife with him, just in case. It was self defense and initially unintended. He still remembered the way the man screamed as his blood sprayed on the cement walls. He remembered how _pretty_ it looked, a never-ending pool of glistening crimson. "After that, I wanted to make everything I saw just as beautiful."

A small smile appeared on Zoe's face. James struggled to return it, a subtle twitch of his lips. She stepped away from the door, and James felt that, with every step she took, a piece of his walls shattered. "Well," she said as she returned to her seat. "That's a start."

* * *

"So, what was that? Date two, or three?"

Zoe could feel the heat rush to her cheeks and she choked on her water. " _Excuse_ me?" She looked up at Liz incredulously, but the bartender only shrugged and topped off her glass. "Date?With _who_ exactly?"

"Sweetheart, I'm old. Not dead," Liz chuckled, leaning against the counter. "I'm no fool. It's written all over your face. So I think _I_ should be the one asking _with who exactly_?"

"It wasn't a date," Zoe defended immediately, though she found herself unsure of her own words. Zoe honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd been out on a 'date' and was suddenly oblivious to the meaning of the word. But, now that she thought about it—No. "James and I aren't dating, Liz." Liz tensed, just a bit, at the man's name, and her smile faltered. "We're just talking. Getting to know each other."

"Just talking," Liz scoffed. Her disbelieving eyes traveled over Zoe, taking in her rigid posture and the way she gnawed at her lower lip as though punishing it for having said anything at all. And that look. Oh, Lord, did Liz recognize the look on the girl's face. Surprised, the bartender raised an eyebrow, "Oh _no,_ sweetie. No, no, no, no, no."

"What?" Zoe attempted to feign obliviousness, but Liz wasn't having any of it.

"I know that look, kiddo, and I can tell you right now that is the _last_ thing you want to be doing. Especially here. _Especially_ with him."

Zoe's brows furrowed. What the—Oh."No," she practically whined. "No, that is totally not—No!" The bartender gave her a wary eye-roll. "He saved my life, Liz. I just... I'm appreciative. And I think he needs a friend just as much as I do. "

"James March doesn't have _friends_ _,_ and there's a reason for that." The woman paused, taking in the expression on the girl's face before sighing. "God, I don't understand what the bastard's doing. He hasn't... told you _anything,_ has he? Confided in you about anything... odd?"

The words came at Zoe like a punch to the gut. She tensed up a little. She knew it wasn't her place to feel envious—obviously James had confided in the people he had known far longer than Zoe—she had no reason to feel jealous, she was keeping her own secrets. Yet it was the way that Liz said it, like there was something important that Zoe was in the dark about. One more reminder that James still refused to open up to her, even about the smallest things.

She looked up, noticing the sympathetic expression that had settled on Liz's face. "Look, honey, I know I encouraged it in the beginning, but I wasn't expecting you to—" she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "If you came here to have some great love affair, there a number of _other_ eligible bachelors—"

"I'm not here for a _love affair_ ," Zoe protested, combing her fingers through her hair. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't exactly remember _why_ she was here. Something about Queenie? Maybe. Her lack of memory produced bubbling anxiety in her stomach, but Liz took her tense silence as the girl avoiding the question.

"Sweetie, this is _not_ the place and he is _not_ the man to be falling for." Zoe groaned quietly, lifting her hands to rub at her temples. She was going to be sick, she just knew it. "What could you possibly see in him anyway? He's a mess. He's a genuine, unstable, dangerous mess."

"He reminds me of someone," Zoe finally admitted. Her throat was beginning to lock up and her eyes were burning as she tried to focus her attention everywhere but the woman in front of her. She hadn't expected to be put on the spot, and she definitely did not expect to be coming clean about her mind connecting Kyle and James. "Or he _did._ He reminded me of somebody that I loved and... That I lost. Look, I can't explain it. That's how it started and now I'm trying to get to know who _he_ is without comparing him to that someone. Look, I know it's confusing, it's just—I needed to see him _alive_ again and James gave me that."

The look on Liz's face was unreadable by the time Zoe finished. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before glancing around nervously and then grabbing Zoe's hands. "Hon, I understand what it's like to lose someone that you love. Trust me. But... whoever you lost; it isn't James. This isn't a Hallmark movie." Zoe didn't respond, glassy eyes falling on their hands. Liz sighed quietly. "Why don't you try and get out of the hotel for a little bit, hm? I'm sure you could use the fresh air. Maybe it'll help you clear your thoughts, just a bit."

Briefly, she remembered James' reaction when she brought up leaving the hotel. The brief flash of fear and vulnerability that sparked up in his dark eyes. It had disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived, but Zoe had caught it. She hesitated before slowly pulling her hands away from Liz's, eyeing the woman warily before nodding. "You're probably right. I feel like I've been cooped up for weeks. I came here for a vacation and I haven't even gone outside." She tried to laugh, taking a sip of her drink.

Liz gave her what could have been a sad smile, but Zoe didn't pay much notice to it. "I know the feeling," she admitted. "Go out and have fun. Go to a movie, or go shopping. Pick up a venti caramel macchiato. Instagram it. All that fun stuff." She delivered a quick pat to Zoe's arm and flashed a small smile before turning away. "I think you'll feel a lot better, especially in regards to... that, afterward. Just... Stay out for a couple hours."

Zoe forced a smile, sliding off her stool. She grabbed her purse, pausing and turning just before exiting the lounge. "And if I don't?" Liz looked up and Zoe tried again. "And if I don't feel better about all this. About James. If nothing's changed. Then what do I do?"

Liz held her gaze momentarily, picking up a glass to wipe clean. "Sweetie, if you have James March on your mind by the time you get back, _then_ we'll talk."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Late update came because I got distracted with Zyle, Quicksilver and had some Zames writer's block. Zames is so complicated, man. Getting to the part where they find the truth about each other, stemming from Zoe finally getting out of the hotel next chapter, which I'm pretty excited to write. Apologies for being lazy and still not checking for errors. I'll find them eventually. Thanks for the reviews!


	8. Lost Time

Zoe hadn't been to a mall in ages.

The last time she recalled shopping at a mall was with her mom, four Christmases ago, when she was sixteen and all she cared about was making it to Hot Topic before the twelve year-old punk-wannabes showed up. Now, she wasn't sure what to do with herself. People stared at her, but not for the reasons she was used to. It had been a while since she was just a plain white girl, wandering aimlessly with nothing more than a Starbucks cup in her hand.

When Liz had suggested leaving the hotel, Zoe had been hesitant. It wasn't particularly that she preferred to stay inside—or maybe she did and was reluctant to admit it—but she wasn't sure she could so easily re-enter the 'real world' on her own. She hadn't been out doing, well, _normal_ things for quite some time. Not without worrying that someone would recognize her from her six minute television appearance as _New Orlean Witch Council Member, Z. Benson,_ or that the man behind the counter was an armed hunter, or that her boyfriend would get angry at some pissy security guard and break the poor man's neck. The thought of just going out and _enjoying_ herself in the world she had grown to be apprehensive of was a tad hard to handle.

She was brought out of her self-pitying daze by a girl knocking into her shoulder.

"Sorry." The girl cast a glance in Zoe's direction, quickly regaining her composure before hurrying after her friends. It wasn't genuine—Zoe didn't really expect it to be—and she quickly returned to laughing with her companions. Zoe watched the three girls, arms linked, as they burst into annoying giggles at some picture the middle one pulled up on her phone. Zoe was momentarily amazed at how they could manage to walk with all their pretzels, lattes, and _Old Navy_ bags. As comical as it was, the sight brought the hint of a smile to her face.

 _"Do you have anything that's not from the GAP?"_

Briefly, Zoe almost wished that even _Madison_ was with her. Of course, had the other witch been around, Zoe probably would have killed her. Still, the girl was fashion forward and always had some kind of opinion to give, even if it was a bitchy one. Regardless, at this point, Zoe just wanted someone with her.

Self-pity aside, Zoe made her way into the familiar store. Well, it wasn't really familiar anymore. People brushed past her as though she were invisible. She never remembered the store being so busy before but, then again, it had been a while. She wasn't sure how long she wandered around, looking through the racks without any actual idea of what she was looking for. She paid more attention to the people around her than she did the clothing. Each person she saw reminded her of _someone._ For example, to her left was an obnoxiously loud teenager arguing with her mom over a pair of jeggings.

" _No, mom," Zoe protested, making a face as her mother held up the yellow dress. "I_ hate _yellow. It makes me look... I dunno, albino."_

 _Her mother rolled her eyes, putting the dress back. "You need to wear something nice." Zoe opened her mouth, no doubt to point out that she had a number of dresses in her closet that would fit the occasion perfectly. "Something that's not_ black. _You need to wear something inviting. Something happy. You can't go to a birthday party dressed like you meant to be at a funeral."_

Zoe forced the thought away. She wasn't sure if she was still mad at her mother for sending her away. Some good things did come from her family getting rid of her, but they hadn't bothered to contact her since she left, so the bitterness was there. Had they seen the coven's breakout on television? Did they see their daughter as she nervously smiled for the camera when asked if she worshiped the Devil? Did they even _care?_

She redirected her attention to a pair of girls holding up dresses that were meant for women far older than them, and Zoe immediately envisioned herself in junior high—a seemingly ideal period of time that she almost wished she could return to. Back when she had friends that didn't try to kill her or the people she loved.

She meandered to the other side of the store, where dresses were replaced with hoodies, jeggings with torn jeans and v-necks. She wasn't particularly sure what had drawn her to that section, but she trailed her hands over sweaters and vests, wearing the faintest of smiles.

Then her eyes drifted to a couple. She watched as he tucked a frizzy curl behind his girlfriend's ear, placing a number of kisses on her temple. Zoe knew that look—he was bored, and he had already mentally made a list of things that he would _rather_ be doing with his girlfriend than watching her pick out more clothes that he didn't want or need _._ Still, he loved—or liked—her enough to keep his mouth shut, instead nodding his head and faking a smile as she held up items that he would probably shove in the back of his closet and forget about within the next month.

Sighing, Zoe tried to keep her thoughts in check, but wasn't really surprised when her mind went to James—Wait. What?

James.

The name was seemingly foreign in her mind, yet it brought a wave of dizzy awareness. The floor tilted underneath her feet and her hand shot out to grip the nearby rack to keep herself upright. Liz had been right, to an extent, Zoe had completely forgotten about James during the duration that she spent losing herself in the mall. Her thoughts went everywhere _but_ on the man she had been spending the past couple of days with. She knew she probably should have found that fact alone comforting, meaning that her feelings weren't as strong as she had almost feared them to be, but instead she felt nothing but unease.

The way her brain was struggling had her suddenly wondering why it seemed like this was the first time she had heard James' name, why she struggled to put a face to it, and even after several attempts, she still felt like she was getting it wrong. Something wasn't adding up. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, and that only frustrated her further.

"Miss, are you okay?" Zoe managed a nod, turning to look at the concerned young man that had suddenly appeared next to her. Obviously, her response wasn't convincing enough as he slowly reached into his pocket, grabbing for his cell. "Do you need me to call 911? Or I could get my manager, if—"

"No, I'm fine," Zoe finally forced out. She wasn't sure if she was actually _fine,_ but the last thing she wanted was to be admitted to a hospital. "I was just... Overwhelmed."

The associate nodded, a relieved smile tugging at his lips as he slid his phone back into his pocket. "Oh, I get that," he sighed. "It's been crazy, what, with the holidays coming up and all. We have tons of sales and apparently 20% off is enough to bring in every annoyed daughter and frantic mom in the city."

Zoe attempted a smile, but it faded fairly fast after the boy's words resonated in her mind. "Sorry, you said the holidays? Thanksgiving isn't for, like, a month and a half."

He gave her an odd look before shrugging. "Well, I mean, Halloween is next week, so..."

"Next week?" Zoe heard herself gasp, the idea striking something in her mind. That was impossible. She had checked in on the 14th which, if she wasn't mistaken, was only three days ago. Maybe four? "Dude. It's, like, the 17th."

The associate raised a brow, suddenly looking at Zoe as though she was an escaped mental patient. "Um, _dude_ , it's the 24th." He paused before the judgment dissolved into brief concern. "Are you sure you don't need me to call someone?"

Zoe couldn't find her voice, this time shaking her head and stumbling off before he could say more. That was impossible—the 24th? If the kid was telling the truth, she had overstayed her welcome by a week.

But that didn't make any sense. If it was really a week later than when she had planned on leaving, wouldn't the hotel staff have alerted her? Wouldn't that grouchy receptionist, whose name Zoe couldn't remember, have pounded on her door and told her to pay or get the hell out? It wasn't adding up, but it _was_ adding to Zoe's headache.

She felt like she was about to throw up as she rummaged around in her purse. She pulled out her phone, taking a deep breath before unlocking the screen.

 _3:29PM_

 _OCTOBER 24, 2015_

She barely had time to comprehend that before her phone seized against her palm, convulsing with vibrations until one notification remained.

 _28 Missed Calls: Cordelia_

Shit.

* * *

"Hi, Zoe. I'm just checking in. You haven't contacted me since you arrived. I'm hoping that everything's going well and that you're just busy searching, but either way, call me when you get a chance."

"Zoe? It's Cordelia, again. I'm wondering if you've made contact with Queenie? It's been a few days, now, I don't know if that's enough time, but just let me know that everything's alright."

"Zoe, why aren't you answering my calls? Are these messages getting through to you? I'm worried. I still haven't heard from Queenie and now I'm not getting through to you, I—I'm worried. Please call me back."

"Zoe? Zoe, please pick up the phone. This isn't like you. Please, I need to know that you're safe."

"Zoe, I called the hotel. The receptionist said you checked in almost a week ago, so why aren't you answering my calls?"

"Please, Zoe. You can't abandon us now. If you can't find Queenie... Come back. We'll search for her another way. Please. Your safety is of utmost importance right now."

Zoe gnawed at her lip. Cordelia grew more frantic with each message she left, and finally the recording alerted Zoe that the messages were finished and the voicemail box was full. She felt guilty but, at the same time, she was still completely bewildered.

Cordelia had been right—there was something wrong about the hotel. It didn't make sense, any of it. The fact that Zoe hadn't been able to access the service on her phone, that she had lost track of time—something was off.

Queenie. Guilt bubbled inside Zoe again, this time with the knowledge that she had completely forgotten about her original purpose of coming to the hotel. Finding her friend. She hadn't thought of Queenie since the day she arrived, she'd been distracted with other things. It was like something didn't want her to find Queenie, so obstacles were placed in her path.

 _You have more to be scared of in this very room, than you do if you step outside the front door._

James. He had tried to warn her. To warn her about the hotel and whatever it was that was messing with her head. It explained why he hadn't left—she briefly wondered how long he had been trapped in there. James was an example of one of the hotel's victims, or the victim of whatever dark presence resided within it. Whatever had tried to get to Zoe had obviously gotten to him first, which gave her even more reason to find out what it was and destroy it.

Breath shaky, Zoe tapped on Cordelia's name. The line seemed to ring endlessly before her voicemail kicked in.

"Cordelia, it's Zoe. Listen... I don't know what exactly is going on, but you were right. About the hotel. There's something... Really screwed up going on here. I just left the building today and I—I don't know where the time's gone. Something's got in my head. I didn't even get the chance to _look_ for Queenie, but now that I know how long it's been.. I'll do it as soon as I get back. I think I know of someone who can help me. His name is James, and I'm going to try and get him out of this shit-hole too. There's no service inside, but I'll try and call you as soon as I can. Don't worry, I—" There was a sudden beep and the call was ended. Zoe sighed, combing her fingers through her hair.

She'd have to pull herself together now. She needed to form a plan and make sure she put it into action as quickly as she could.

* * *

"You let her _leave?"_

James' voice sounded far more broken than even he expected, and Liz actually looked uncomfortable with the pained look in his eyes as he leaned against the counter. Had she not known better, she would have almost felt sorry for the man. He had come downstairs looking for Zoe, a—undoubtedly false—hopefulness lingering in his dark eyes. It was quickly diminished when Liz told him that the girl had gone shopping two hours prior.

"Zoe is a sweet girl," Liz stated, straightening up. "Did you really think I'd let her just stick around and let you slit her throat?"

James stared at the woman in horror, eyes bright with anger and confusion. "I wouldn't have—I would—She—" He wasn't sure where he was going with this. Liz certainly wouldn't understand. Even though, in the last ten years, his relationship with her had begun to linger on the borders of what he believed friendship to be, it wasn't as though they sat around having deep conversations over glasses of champagne. The only thing he trusted Liz with was cleaning up after him—just like Miss Evers. He noticed her staring at him expectantly, but he couldn't seem to find any words that would properly finish his sentence. "Do you know what you've _done?_ " Liz closed her eyes at the volume of his voice. In one sweep, he knocked over the stacked glasses she had just finished cleaning. She barely flinched as they shattered, and she only tensed when James came around the counter and grabbed her by the throat. "Do you _know_ what you've _done_?" he repeated slowly.

Liz raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips. She held a fairly calm countenance, as though a serial killer _wasn't_ preparing to strangle her. "You have about fifteen minutes before a number of people come flooding downstairs for the evening rush, I think you should let me go."

Tense silence passed between the two before James finally removed his hand. His rage was evident, it was displayed quite clearly on his face, yet Liz wasn't blind to the other emotions lingering in his eyes. She had seen it many times, though not on James March. Fear. Sadness.

Lightly massaging her neck, Liz inhaled slowly. "Would you care to explain _why_ this girl is so important to you? Why she's still _alive_ , anyway? I don't even want to imagine what you're planning with her, but—"

"I wasn't going to kill her," James finally snapped, slamming a fist against the counter. "Not... Not anymore, I was—At first, I—" He closed his eyes momentarily, shaking his head. "You would not understand."

For the first time in a very long time, Liz was rendered speechless. His words seemed to echo off the walls, and they certainly echoed in her ears. "You weren't... Going to..." Her first instinct was to call the man out on his _bullshit,_ so she scoffed. "I don't know if you've forgotten, but you're a serial _killer._ You're going to have to do better than that." But James didn't offer another explanation. His broken gaze fell on the floor, and he leaned against the counter, his whole figure actually trembling with anger. Yet, Liz wasn't actually sure if all of it was directed at _her._ "You're not... Serious," Liz began quietly, but James remained silent. She recalled Zoe's reaction when Liz brought up her 'dates' with James. She had only meant to mess with the girl, but her reactions had been oddly serious. Similar to James' fit after discovering she left. "Oh _God."_

"What does _he_ have to do with it?" James immediately retorted, but his voice was gruff and much quieter than it had been previously.

Liz wasn't sure how to respond, so she simply gawked for a couple of minutes before managing, "Does your _wife_ know?"

The man's body went rigid, completely freezing him in his place. He hadn't even thought about Elizabeth. But surely she wouldn't mind if—If what? Obviously, Liz assumed that there was something between Zoe and James that his wife either needed to know or would have wanted to know. But that would, of course, mean that James had to have—Oh. _Oh._

"No," he began softly, but it wasn't an answer to her question. "No, no, _no._ " His hands went to pull at his hair and the volume of his voice only rose as he repeated the word.

"James," Liz began. The man was going into yet _another_ fit and Liz wasn't sure how she was to handle this. Soon, guests would be coming in and would immediately be placed in danger, considering his unstable state. Of course, she understood where he was coming from, to a point. He was _dead,_ and Zoe was very much alive. Meaning that if they _did_ harbor some kind of... feelings for each other—which was a whole new subject in itself—there weren't many options for them to form a relationship. Especially with Zoe obviously having a life in another area while James was forever confined to the hotel. Not to mention, James was psychotic, the way he had resulted to breaking bottles and striking himself on the head in his confused rage was an obvious reminder. Liz awkwardly grabbed for her gun. Of course, it wouldn't do much other than shock him with a headache and gather the attention of the other residents, but it would get him to forget about breaking her inventory for just a moment. "James," she repeated. She was about to cock the gun and aim, but the front doors opened up.

Both adults turned and Liz quickly slid the gun back into its place under the counter. She sent James a wide-eyed look, but his own equally wide gaze was locked on the guest entering. His shaking had ceased, rendering him a statue.

"Liz," Zoe gasped as she rushed to the counter. Liz straightened up, noticing the distraught look that had formed on James' face. It was short-lived, however, as Zoe quickly came around the counter, dropped her bags and wrapped her arms around _him._ "James," she whispered into his jacket.

James slowly turned his head, eyes locking with Liz's, completely bewildered. Liz could only weakly shrug her shoulders. She was just as confused about the situation as he appeared to be. Zoe had been gone for a little over two hours, which should have, at least, wiped her mind of James, if not a few other things. Obviously, something was wrong, considering how she clung to his jacket as though in fear that if she let go of him, even for a moment, he would disappear.

Zoe pulled away reluctantly, looking between both of them before brushing her hair out of her face. She stepped to the side, but Liz took note of the way her hand remained on James' sleeve. "These are for you," she told him, awkwardly gesturing to the two bags at her feet. He didn't respond, his head tilting ever-so-slightly in what Liz assumed was supposed to be a nod. "But... We," she looked at Liz, "all of us, I think we need to talk."

Liz suddenly forced herself back into reality, pursing her lips and raising a brow. She nodded her head, and attempted to break the awkward silence that had fallen between the trio.

"Yes," she finally managed. "We certainly do."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ I don't even know what to say about this chapter, um. Well, thanks for reading! I apologize for the inevitable errors, I'll find those later. Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad that you're all still liking the story. I initially wanted this to be 13 chapters, for the sake of it being my favorite number and kinda having a special feel to it, but I don't know how accurate that will be. But still trying to bring Queenie back in and simultaneously develop Zames. I kinda just want them to kiss, oops. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


	9. Weak

"I need to speak to the owner." Zoe broke the barrier of silence that had settled after the trio made their way into the back room. Liz had simply grabbed three glasses and a dark brown bottle (which she was now staring at longingly, as though debating on whether or not to down the entire thing herself.) James hadn't said a word, sinking into a chair across from Zoe and lighting a cigarette. His eyes were focused on the carpet, refusing to budge no matter how desperately Zoe silently willed for him to look at her.

"And why is that?" Liz finally asked, looking between the two before filling each glass. If anything, having Zoe and James in the room together only proved her suspicions. The day was only getting stranger as time went on. She handed a glass to Zoe, James didn't bother to look up.

"I think you know," Zoe muttered, taking a sip and welcoming the numbing burn. "Something happened while I was out and I want to know _why_."

James exhaled slowly and Liz pursed her lips. Though she knew better than to expect such, the bartender would have been intrigued to see how the previous owner would have handled the claims - especially now with his sudden 'anti-murder' policy in regards to one Miss Zoe Benson. However, James obviously had no intentions of speaking any time soon, so Liz took a stinging gulp of liquor and began with a vague and wary, "Would you care to elaborate?"

Zoe's eyes said that she _did_ care, but she obliged all the same. "Is it normal for your guests to become amnesiacs upon leaving the property? _You're_ the one who told me to leave." Smoke swirled over James' face, but Zoe caught the way that his eyes briefly darted to Liz, who finished her drink with irritating nonchalance. "It took me an hour or two," the witch continued quietly. Her heart still stuttered when she thought back to her overwhelming confusion and fear when she became aware of the time and _memories_ she had lost. "At first I thought: drugs, maybe all the drinking." Zoe sent an accusatory glance at Liz, the latter's eyebrow lifting ever-so-slightly. Zoe hadn't wanted to think so poorly of the woman, the one she first befriended, and luckily it hadn't lasted. "But, then again, what drugs erase only _one_ person from your mind?"

At this, James finally met her gaze. His expression was unreadable, though it briefly confirmed her suspicions. He _knew_. He knew that not only was he the tampered memory, but he also knew why it had happened. Zoe met his eyes, silently prompting him to open up about whatever it was, but he instead grabbed for his glass, sipping it and drowning any explanations he had to offer.

The awkward encounter did not go unnoticed and Liz cleared her throat. "What exactly do you know about the hotel?" The words caused James to retreat into his thoughts again, brow twitching as he sunk back into his seat. She would have to tread carefully. Such extended silence from James March was never a good thing.

"It was built in the 1920's by some psychotic serial killer. He killed like... two hundred people, that the cops know of, before he committed suicide. And some say it's been haunted ever since." The words flowed easily, but when she finished both James and Liz appeared to be expecting her to continue. They seemed to be holding their breath, but Zoe only shrugged. "What? That's really all I know. I was going to research more but... I came in a hurry, and you guys don't have Wi-Fi."

"We're working on that," Liz hummed, pouring herself another drink. "You said you came in a hurry?"

Now it was Zoe's turn to hold her breath. Part of her wanted to point out that this wasn't supposed to be about _her_ , the other part figured they deserved to know _something_ considering how she expected answers from them. Yet, as soon as she glanced at James, she wasn't sure how truthful she could be. Not _yet_ at least. "My roommate came out here to be on a game show a... few weeks back. She checked in here, but that was the last we heard from her. She's gone missing. I came out here because my... other roommates and I are worried about her."

Liz turned to James, who had tensed up significantly. A young woman at the Cortez a few weeks prior? It was reasonable to assume she probably hadn't survived her first night. If not by James' hand, then by Elizabeth and Donovan's seductive routine. "What does she look like?"

Sensing tension, Zoe suddenly felt fear knot up her stomach. "A bit shorter than me. Black, heavy. She probably would have spent more time outside than in." Zoe watched as James shoulders fell and—was that _relief_ on his face?

Liz, on the other hand, looked at Zoe with barely concealed horror. _Remember that large black girl that checked in not too long ago? ...Elizabeth... Locked up in the basement._ She tried to gather herself, but Zoe had already caught onto her unease and was gazing at her with those large, glassy caramel eyes. "I remember her checking in," Liz finally admitted. She could feel James' gaze on her and she bit her tongue, not wanting to upset the man further. Noticing Zoe's forlorn expression, she sighed. "She didn't check out."

Zoe's eyes widened and she looked between the two. James made an almost inaudible, strangled sound deep in his throat and Liz shrunk back under the girl's frantic gaze. "So—So what does that mean? She's still here? Is she okay? Is she trapped too? What room is she in?" There was a weak hopefulness in her voice, matching the glassy desperation in her eyes. There was a split beat of tense silence before James stood. He didn't even acknowledge the two women as he left the room.

"Don't," Liz warned as Zoe rose to go after him. The witch stared at the doors longingly, a look that tore at Liz's heartstrings while simultaneously making her stomach churn. "Let him go, honey. It's probably best that we talk about this alone anyway."

After a moment, Zoe reluctantly sunk back down into her chair and Liz re-filled her glass. "Liz... What the hell is going on? There's—There's something really messed up about this place." She took a deep breath before taking a sip of her drink, the glass lingering against her lips for a moment before her eyes landed on the bartender. "It's haunted, isn't it? Really?" The words came out like an uneasy statement and Zoe quickly tried to stifle her nerves with another burning gulp.

Liz wasn't sure where to begin. She had assumed this conversation would have to take place one day, with someone, but these were not her ideal circumstances. She had always kept a speech prepared, stored in the back of her mind, constructed of her own opinions and theories on the place. "Sweetie, if there is anything that you need to know about the Hotel Cortez, it's that there is a _darkness_ here. An evil. I think it's the hotel herself. Of course, she has her moments—she can be quite the home. But, in reality, she's a selfish mistress who infects all those who enter. Our long-term residents are those that she's claimed. Rarely does someone stay here by choice." An almost mournful tone entered her cavalier voice as she picked up the bottle. She stared at it for just a moment before taking a swig from it, sighing before continuing. "The darkness _will_ get inside you if you let it. It's corrupted brilliant people, caused them to do terrible, terrible things."

Zoe fell silent for an unbearably long period. The girl was hunched over, blonde curtains hiding her guilty, downtrodden expression. "Terrible things," she echoed. "You think Queenie's dead."

The girl had caught on far quicker than Liz would have expected anyone else to. It was interesting, Zoe continued to surprise her. She wasn't skeptical of the concept of ghosts, nor did Liz fear her going to the police with claims of "murderers" residing within the hotel. Of course, Zoe appeared to be rather smart, so she surely knew the accusations would only be responded to with ignorance. "I can't say for sure, but if that's your reason for coming here, I would leave now." Compassion was something that Liz did not often deliver, but now she took Zoe's hand in hers, eyes searching hers in something akin to desperation. "Honey, you have a entire life ahead of you. The last thing I would want would be for you to lose that _here_ , of all places."

Zoe's lashes fluttered, overwhelming guilt produced in the form of stinging tears. Killer ghosts, pure evil—why had she not seen that coming? After all she had experienced, she couldn't help but feel idiotic for not having come to the conclusion sooner and prepared herself against the spirit of the hotel. Now she was at a loss; she had been robbed of a week and now learned that she may have been too late in saving her sister witch. The thought made her head spin and her stomach lurch. She and Queenie had never been incredibly close, not even after the struggles they endured together, but having first lost Kyle, then Queenie and—

"James." The name slipped last her lips before she could really think it through. Liz gave her a wary look and Zoe sat down her glass—the alcohol was doing nothing for her headache, and was probably increasing her unstable emotions, rather than numbing them as she had intended. "What's his story?"

Liz stared at the girl for a moment, briefly wondering if she had overestimated the young woman's intuition and intelligence. Then she recalled the awkward glances, the similar glints in their eyes, and the emotionally impulsive way they reacted to the very mention of each other. "His story is something that should come from his own lips." That was, in Liz speak, a way of saying, 'I'm not touching that with a 30 foot pole. I actually _enjoy_ living.'

"Of course," Zoe mumbled, the hint of a bitter smile tugging at the corner of her lips briefly. It was quickly replaced with a grimace as she ran a hand over her face. "God," she whispered. "I just thought... If Queenie is... Maybe..."

The sentence was broken, but Liz was no fool. She knew what the girl was getting at. If her friend was dead, then maybe she could save James. Liz visibly cringed at the realization. The girl was a masochist, unintentionally setting herself up to be heartbroken one way or the other. "I stand by my word," the woman stood, bottle in hand. There wasn't much more she felt she could say on the matter, and the muffled voices and footsteps reminded her that she had a bar to tend. "I think it would be best for you to leave now." The look on Zoe's face said the girl was considering it, but her eyes betrayed her and Liz knew better than to hope the young woman would heed her warning. "It may be a blessing to forget, you know. I know many people here wish they could be so lucky."

* * *

Weak.

James was weak. The walls judged him, the windows mocked him, his weapons laughed at him. His mind screamed at him with every step he took, and no amount of absinthe could silence its taunts.

He had done well, in his opinion, remaining in that meeting until the rope threatened to snap. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to follow the two women into the room to begin with—well, that wasn't entirely true. He had been so enraged when he realized Zoe had left the property, the concept of losing the girl proving to be another one of his hidden fears. He hadn't felt that emptiness, that regret and pure abandonment for such a long time that he could feel his mind slipping away. He could scarcely recall the following events, save for the shattering of glass, though he clearly remembered the horrified expression on Liz's face when she dared to insinuate that James—that he harbored _feelings_ for Zoe Benson. Then she simply had to bring up Elizabeth.

That had stirred up another bout of emotion he had been hilariously unprepared for. Fear was still present, but it was accompanied by something else. Something he hadn't felt in almost a century and had since learned to despise. His marriage to Elizabeth had seemed ideal at the time. It happened quickly, and James was too smitten by her beauty and dry humor to notice that his infatuation was unrequited. She had been quick to approve of his sickness, encouraging him as long as she gained something. He interpreted it as loving support, understanding. He cursed himself after he found out the truth. Cursed himself for being so blind, so ignorant to the signs.

Zoe was different. Surely, James wouldn't say he was in-love, but he was intrigued. He was drawn to the young woman. Yes, she was beautiful and witty—very much similar to Elizabeth—but there was more to her than that. She was genuine. She was caring, sweet, intelligent, and there was an energy about her, an aura that had never witnessed in anyone else. She was unlike any other women he had encountered.

Of course, that was only because she didn't know the truth. He hadn't been blind to the look on her face when she spoke of him earlier. _Some psychotic serial killer... Two hundred people... Committed suicide..._ The look in her eyes said she wasn't afraid, but _disgusted_. Who he was, what he had done—it _sickened_ her. _He_ sickened her. When she found out the truth, it would be no different. She would look at him the way he saw himself; weak, pathetic, disgusting. The thought alone had a lamp colliding with the wall.

James was suddenly overwhelmed by an emotion that he had not welcomed since he was a child; regret. It lasted only for a moment as his mind refused to let him feel guilt over his work. He slumped into a chair, chest heaving as he tried to regain what composure he had left. All these trifling emotions over one girl? One girl who would undoubtedly be gone before the week was up.

 _It's your own fault,_ a sharp voice reminded him. _You could have kept her here if you simply stuck to the plan. If you had just_ killed _her_ _—_ James silenced the intrusive thoughts with a sigh. He still wasn't sure why he hadn't offed her to begin with. Maybe it was because he feared he would ruin something about her, one of the many things he had come to admire, by ending her life. He had certainly changed in death; become more bitter and even less stable. There was nothing about Zoe Benson that he wanted to change, and that included the beating of her heart. Or maybe it was because she had been the light in the darkness, the one to show him the awful error of his ways. He scowled at the thought.

 _Weak_.

"Mr. March!" James groaned as Miss Evers scampered in, the laundress looking about the room apprehensively. She glanced at the broken lamp and seemed relieved that it was the only destroyed piece of furniture this time around. "Are you alright?"

"No, Miss Evers, I certainly am not." Her ruby lips twisted into a concerned frown and James cringed at it.

Hazel was different from Zoe. They both showed concern, care, support—but for completely opposite reasons. His affection for Hazel had stemmed from her abilities; her borderline-motherly instinct to take care of him. Of course, that was probably because she was a maid and it was her duty, but James had appreciated it all the same. She was not outstandingly beautiful, was significantly older, and she would undoubtedly be living off his success, but he had taken delight in her crooked smile and the way she would bring him tea after a particularly rough day. She had always supported his hobby, believing that he was doing beautiful work and, having her own suspicions on God, making a point that the Almighty Father was not the only one who chose who lives and who dies. When she confessed her feelings for him all those years ago, he had accepted them solely based on the idea that he would never find love elsewhere. She had been far more thrilled than he had expected, only to be completely heartbroken when he found Elizabeth. He supposed it was karma of some sort, allowing him to feel the pain of knowing the person you loved never truly returned the sentiment. Now he was left to watch as the woman continued to fuss over him, adoration still in her eyes as she changed bloody sheets and used all her strength to remove corpses from his room.

"Mr. March?"

James blinked, suddenly noticing the laundress' face significantly closer to his than before. She had a hand raised, and James wasn't sure whether she was waving it to get his attention or preparing to slap him. He almost would have appreciated the latter. He took a deep breath, standing and making his way to the fireplace. He grabbed his pipe and a match, lighting it up and puffing silently for a moment before sighing. "Where do you think we will go, Miss Evers?"

Blinking, Hazel shook her head. "I'm sorry?"

James closed his eyes, a pained expression settling onto his features. "If we were given the chance to move on. Where do you think we would go?"

"Ah! A hypothetical, of course." James didn't respond and Hazel beamed. "Well, it depends on where your beliefs would stand. Purgatory, maybe? Hell?" She tittered, finding the concept amusing. "Of course, I personally prefer my room."

James shook his head slightly. "I deserve much worse than that." If it were possible.

His murmuring had hardly been audible, but the laundress' smile faltered only a bit. She was used to James going into periods of self-pity and hatred, but she was never sure what to tell him. 'You were a good man, Mr. March'? 'Don't worry, you will be forgiven by the one you proclaimed war against'? Instead, she simply shuffled out of the room, re-entering seconds later with three shopping bags. "Your friend left these for you, sir."

James opened his eyes, zeroing in on the bags. He immediately recalled the way Zoe had dropped them only to throw herself at him. He inhaled sharply, waving his hand. "Just leave them."

Miss Evers nodded enthusiastically, peeking inside as she set them down. "Anything else, Mr. March?"

James shook his head. "No." He paused. "Thank you." There was probably too much sincerity in his tone as the woman appeared startled and almost tripped over her feet as she left the room.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at the bags, before he finally went to grab them. He carefully lifted out their contents and set them on the table. Thin v-neck t-shirts, soft sweaters, dark, faded jeans. There was even a pair of ridiculously cheap looking shoes. He licked his lips before choosing what he hoped to be a good combination, judging from what he had seen on guests and in magazines. It was far simpler to put on than his suits, and he was surprised at how warm the sweater was. He hesitated for quite a while before approaching the mirror. A shocked breath shot through his lips, a combination between a gasp and a laugh.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, similar to how Zoe had done in the past, gelled strands falling across his forehead. His gaze trailed over the outfit and he envisioned Zoe hesitantly picking each piece, completely oblivious to what James would like other than colors (which he gleefully realized she had paid attention to, choosing navy, black, and white.) The smallest of smiles played at his lips for a moment before he broke out into a grin, a surprised laugh bursting from his lips. Happiness crept past his self-reproach until he felt a tingling in his throat. No, on his skin. On his neck. His smile faltered and he tugged the collar. He wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed before, maybe he hadn't wanted to. Pulling the fabric down a bit further, his eyes focused on his neck; a bitter reminder of who he was, what he did, and why he had spent the past two hours hating himself.

Weak.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Sorry about the late update, I had some serious writer's block when it came to this chapter. I also wrote this on my phone so I apologize for any errors that I may have skimmed over. Anywho! This chapter was more of a filler-ish kind of chapter to bring Queenie back in, so next chapter starts Zoe's search for Queenie and some (hopefully less awkward) Zames interactions. The chapter _after_ that will probably be the one you guys are looking forward to, because some shit's gonna go down and Devil's Night is coming up. Wooooo. I'll try to update faster next time. Thanks for the follows and reviews!


	10. Promises

Queenie had seen a lot of crazy shit in her short lifetime, but this had to take the cake. Well, aside from the undead man-turned-minotaur she had encountered back home. But that was a memory she had been trying to rid herself of for a while now.

In her current state of imprisonment, Queenie had been introduced to creatures she hadn't been aware existed. It may have been somewhat hypocritical, she'd admit to that, but the last thing she had expected during her trip to sunny California was to be held captive by fashionable vampires in a haunted hotel.

The self-titled Countess had stayed true to her word though; Queenie was _alive_ and in decent health. She had been moved to what appeared to be a white living room and had been granted a position on a stiff couch—which was still more comfortable than the cement floor she had been resting on before, even in restraints.

The Countess had also, undoubtedly to ensure the witch didn't try to fight her way out, placed Queenie with a quad of adorable—yet literally bloodthirsty—children. It was an unspoken fact between the two women; Queenie may have been a rebellious, headstrong witch, but she wouldn't hurt innocent kids.

 _Maybe 'innocent' is a stretch,_ Queenie reminded herself as the doors opened. Routinely, the grouchy receptionist would come in with some young man or woman who was too dazed to understand what was going on until it was too late. She barely paid attention to Queenie, instead focusing on shoving the innocent person inside and getting the hell out of the room before the children swarmed around their victim, biting and tearing at their flesh. Afterward, they would turn to Queenie and, with ruby lips and teeth, grin at her as though expecting her to praise them for their _killer_ skills.

Occasionally, the provider was a young man. He once introduced himself to Queenie as the Countess' lover. Donovan was his name. Not that Queenie particularly cared. If he had no intention of setting her free, she didn't want to know his name. He seemed to gather this as well, because he never stayed much longer than the receptionist.

Today, however, there was a new face delivering. "Liz!" one of the children squealed when the door opened. The four scrambled over to a tall woman with a shaved head, eyes lined in charcoal, wearing a black Hepburn-esque dress. A smile stretched over her thin lips as she crouched, welcoming the youth into her arms for a hug that almost knocked her over.

"Now, now," came a low chiding voice that Queenie quickly realized belonged to the stranger. "I brought you dinner." Liz straightened up and stepped outside momentarily before re-entering with a young man. He had the same stupid look on his face as all the rest, and the boys were quick to grab his hands and lead him over to their corner.

Queenie closed her eyes, trying to ignore the initial cry and squelching, slurping noises that followed. She had learned to occupy her mind with other things; memories, meditation, anything to get past the—

"Well _hello_."

Queenie opened her eyes to see Liz standing above her. Arms crossed, lips pursed, and brows raised; the woman seemed to be scrutinizing the witch. "So, you're the new _babysitter_." The word had such distaste laced into it that Queenie couldn't help but snort. Liz sat down next to her, ignoring the wary look she received. "How are you liking the kids?"

Queenie's eyes reluctantly fell on the four children. Beyond their blonde heads she noticed the man had stopped moving, his whimpers replaced with quiet suckling sounds. "They're okay, I guess." The boys tried to get her to play video games with them, or proudly waved their drawings in front of her. The oldest girl didn't say much, but she was in charge of bringing Queenie her meals, so she couldn't hate her completely. If she hadn't seen them murder innocent human beings, she would have assumed they were normal kids. "For blood-sucking monsters."

Liz hummed, glancing over at the children fondly. "I learned a long time ago that you can't blame the children for the mother's transgressions." She paused thoughtfully before heaving a dramatic sigh. "I used to feel bad for her—Elizabeth, I mean. All she wanted were beautiful children. I can understand that. But I could never truly bring myself to agree with her... methods."

The witch brought her focus back to Liz, a frown tugging at her lips. "Why are you telling me this?"

Liz shrugged. "I think it's only fair to share something before you start asking questions, don't you?"

"You have questions for me?" What could she possibly want? Was she a vampire too? Queenie sighed, shifting into a somewhat comfortable position. She deserved a _real_ vacation if she ever got out of this.

Liz smiled and nodded. "Don't worry, it doesn't really have to do with _you_ directly." The girl's brows furrowed and Liz's expression slowly transformed into something more serious. The woman glanced over her shoulder before leaning forward. "Is she like you?" Her voice, free of its previous indifference, was barely above a whisper and Queenie pulled a face, not actually sure whether or not she had heard the woman correctly. "Look, this isn't the time to play dumb. Is she?"

"Who?" Queenie asked, shaking her head. Great, the woman was crazy. "I have no idea what you're talking about, lady."

Liz rolled her eyes, grabbing the girl's cuffed wrist. "Honey, if you want to get out of here, you need to tell me the truth. Your friend—is she like you?"

Heart skipping a beat, Queenie's eyes widened. "Friend?" Surely she couldn't mean—there was no way. "What— _Who_?"

Liz's eyes narrowed slightly. "What—You didn't know she was looking for you?" She frowned, her gaze searching Queenie's face for any sign she wasn't being honest. All she saw was a sliver of weakness; hope and desperation that hadn't been there when she first arrived. "I don't have time to explain," she sighed, "but I need you to tell me now. _Is Zoe Benson a witch?"_

* * *

Zoe rubbed her hands together before closing her eyes, attempting to muster as much energy as she could. She felt like she hadn't left her room in ages. According to her phone it had been three days.

She was determined—constantly reminding herself that Queenie couldn't just _die;_ not when she could inflict her own wounds on others. Of course, Zoe wasn't completely sure how well her abilities worked with those that were already dead, but if there was any time to be an optimist it was now. Still, she couldn't help but feel as though she wasn't getting anywhere. Days were flying by her, yet again, and there were still no sign of her sister witch.

The hotel had its fair share of conflicting energies, making any kind of divination or clairvoyant search more difficult than it should have been. Zoe concluded it was because of the ghosts—their confusion, anger, and resentment making up most of the auras in the building. There were the occasional glimmers of light and hope, but they were drowning in the darkness, leaving Zoe to dive in after them. It was draining; opening yourself up to emotions and consciousness that were not your own. Each spirit stood as a roadblock between she and what may have been hints to solving the mystery of her missing friend.

One step forward, two steps back.

"C'mon, Queenie." She let out a frustrated sigh, forcing the rambling thoughts away yet again. "Tell me where you are."

She was somewhat successful, after an hour or so. Familiar dark energy soon made itself known, setting up the barriers that she had grown used to. The first time she had gotten past one, she had been greeted with _want._ It was hard to explain, but her entire body itched, _burned_ with desire and lust. She felt like an addict denied a fix, and had suffered from a headache for hours.

This time, she was presented with growing apprehension that she was sure was not her own. Her pulse quickened, anxiety coursed through her veins. _Why had she gone with them? Why had she fallen for his smile?_ Zoe frowned, beginning to pull back. It wasn't who she was looking for. She had no business allowing this random girl's emotions in—

 _Please... I don't want to die._

The sudden voice was so prominent in her mind, it was as though it were a thought of her own. The unexpected threat of tears burned her eyes as they blinked open, sickening realization quickly settling in.

Somewhere in the hotel, an innocent girl was being murdered.

Zoe grabbed her key, barely stepping in her shoes as she stumbled into the hall. She made her way to the stairs, following the growing fear. The girl's screams and pleading echoed in her ears, almost deafening her as she reached the top floor. Just as her hand touched the knob, everything fell silent. The fear was replaced with an overwhelming sense of dread. Her hand fell to her side and she slumped against the door, a sob slipping past her lips as she realized she was too late.

 _Why?_

In her despair, it took her a moment to realize the word had not come from her own thoughts. She wasn't sure when a presence had joined her, but she could feel the change in the air. It was cold and thick with grief. Her blurry gaze focused on a pair of boots posed front of her. Between them fell a crimson bead, followed by another and another until a ruby stream began pooling on the gray floor. Holding her breath, the blonde slowly lifted her eyes to the source. Her scream caught in her throat.

Standing above her was a young woman, probably no older than Zoe herself. She looked relatively normal—pale, over-sized sweater, dark ringlets framing her round face, thick lashes and curious blue eyes—aside from the large gash in her neck. Blood poured down her front and she, seemingly oblivious to it, locked eyes with the cowering witch before her. "You were here," she mused quietly, voice a strangled gurgle. Her blue eyes turned icy, accusation and betrayal filling them. "You were _here. Why?_ Why didn't you _help me?"_ Her voice suddenly escalated to a scream and Zoe struggled to get to her feet. "Why didn't you _save_ me?"

Zoe let out a horrified wail, tears pouring down her cheeks as she raced down the steps. She knew that there was no use in trying to outrun a ghost, they could materialize wherever they wished at will. Not to mention, regardless of how many flights she descended, her guilt stayed with her.

She wasn't sure what possessed her to stop where she did, but she collapsed against the door of the third floor. The girl hadn't followed her, to her relief, but she still felt awful. Slumped against the wall, she was a whimpering mess. Her body shook with her sobs—guilt, fear and frustration knotting up her stomach. The dead girl's cold eyes were still in her mind, her accusations mixing in with the ones that haunted Zoe from her nightmares

She felt so helpless. Cordelia shouldn't have sent her—she was too weak. She had wasted over two weeks and was no closer to finding Queenie than she had been in New Orleans. A girl had been murdered under the same roof and Zoe hadn't been able to save her. Upon arriving, she hadn't even been able to protect _herself._ At home she hadn't been able to save _Kyle._

She mentally punched herself for even momentarily finding the concept of her helping both Queenie and James— _James._ She lifted her tearful gaze to the number on the door. The third floor. _His_ floor. She had been trying to keep him out of sight and mind after the encounter with he and Liz. Liz had suggested she give him time, and Zoe needed space in order to focus on Queenie. A lot of good that had done.

Now, she was terrified, hopeless, and in need of some form of comfort. Before she could talk herself out of it, she allowed her feet to carry her to where she knew she would find just that. She tried not to be hopeful when she stopped at his door but failed, pure relief and elation filling her when it opened. James' face bore a series of emotions before it settled into what Zoe assumed was confusion. She could only imagine how she must have looked.

"A girl was just murdered upstairs," she said, as though that explained everything. "Can I come in?"

The words probably could have been arranged differently, judging from the momentarily stunned look on James' face, but he let her in all the same. She sat down in the same chair she had when she first spoke with him. It wasn't long before James pushed a drink into her hands.

The two remained silent for some time, James smoking off to the side while Zoe tried to steady her nerves with the pleasant burn of alcohol. She couldn't deny the calm she felt just being in the room with him. He unknowingly returned a piece of her sanity by just being there. She wondered if, even in the quiet, he felt the same.

"I was looking for my friend," she finally began. James didn't verbally respond, nor did he reveal anything with his stoic expression. Zoe dropped her gaze to the amber liquid in her glass. "I _really_ have to find her, James."

James made a quiet sound—it could have been a sigh or a scoff, Zoe wasn't really sure—before taking another long drag of his cigarette. In truth, he didn't want to hear about Zoe's determination in finding Queenie. It was simply one more reminder that should she actually find her friend, she would disappear. The past few days had felt like months to him. He had stayed in his room, doing nothing more than staring at walls and tolerating Miss Evers pointless chatter. He had feared Zoe simply wouldn't seek him out again, and oh—was he pleasantly surprised when she did. But, of course, she had to ruin everything with her constant talk of _rescue_ and _escape._

"Did you see who did it?" he finally asked, attempting to keep the bitterness from his voice. Gaining a curious look in response, he elaborated. "You said someone was murdered upstairs."

Zoe shook her head slowly. "I just... saw her."

James frowned. If the girl hadn't died at _his_ hands, then it had undoubtedly been Elizabeth and her pet. Normally, they were good to clean up their own messes, and surely Zoe wouldn't be sitting in front of him had she crept into their room. His gaze traveled over the girl's stricken face. _Ah._ "You saw her after death."

Zoe nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. "I've... seen ghosts before. They just... They looked like normal people. So real. You couldn't pick them off a street. But... I haven't seen..." Her hand slowly crept to the base of her neck, fingers lightly tracing where the girl's gash had been. James watched her with wide eyes, his own skin prickling at the sight. "They cut her throat. It was—It was awful. There was so much blood. It was this gaping—" her voice cut off and she closed her eyes, shaking her head as though willing the memory away.

 _Disgusted,_ a voice observed in James' mind. She seemed so disturbed, he could only imagine what her reaction would be upon seeing his own self-inflicted scar. "Miss Benson," he began quietly, but he wasn't sure how to comfort her. He _couldn't_ comfort her.

"Who _does_ that?" She whispered, anger filling her eyes. "She was just an innocent girl! What kind of sick—sick _monster_ kills an innocent girl in cold blood?"

 _Me,_ he silently screamed at her. Somehow, he managed to stay silent as the girl broke, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. He fought the urge to approach her, to embrace her. It was so seemingly out-of-character, but the way she _looked_ at him. As though pleading for him to do something, to _say_ something. He inhaled deeply, swirls of smoke accompanying his sigh. He wanted to tell her. He wasn't sure _why,_ but he wanted her to know the truth. To know who she was speaking to, who she was associating herself with.

 _...two hundred victims..._

 _...serial killer..._

 _People don't run to the darkness, they run from it._

 _Who could love a monster?_

Zoe noticed the way the man tensed, his eyes closing and his body going so still she wondered if he were even breathing. He suddenly appeared so vulnerable, so broken, so _lost._ She remembered that he was a victim himself. That he had probably seen countless innocents come to the Cortez and never leave. He had probably seen far more gruesome deaths than what she had encountered—he may have even seen them committed.

Slowly, Zoe got to her feet. He didn't seem to notice, not opening his eyes until her hand was on his. She silently led him to the loveseat, and the two sat by each other. "I want to ask you something," she said quietly. James eyed her warily and she took a deep breath. "Look, I need help finding Queenie. I can't do it on my own. I _know_ she's still here, James." She paused and ran her tongue over her lips. "Could you—You know the hotel. Can you... Would you help me look for her?"

James struggled to be annoyed. _No._ Of course he didn't want to aid in her search for her dead companion. Was she blind to that as well? Instead of shoving her away and screaming in her face as he desired, James was further surprised as Zoe took his hand in both of hers, giving him no time to speak before she continued. "Look, I've been thinking... Liz said you knew the hotel better than most. If you can help me find Queenie, maybe I can get _both_ of you out of here." James' jaw actually dropped, and Zoe would have laughed had she not continued to ramble on. "God, wouldn't you like to go _outside,_ James? I can't imagine all the time you've lost. You don't have to be afraid. We can find Queenie and then... Then we can leave. _Together._ "

After managing to press his lips together, James stared at her blankly. Zoe Benson was truly unlike any woman—no, _anyone_ he had ever met. She was so passionate, so determined with her heart set on her plan. James was at a loss. She truly cared about him. She was so _stupidly_ committed to the idea that he was someone worth saving, and that she could successfully do so, for that matter. She was so _blind,_ but by what — James wasn't sure. Or maybe he was, but it was one more thing he was unwilling to admit.

Zoe again misread James' stunned silence; taking his horrified expression as incredulity. "Look, I can't... explain... what it is about you that makes me feel the way I do—whatever that is—okay? But I—I just can't imagine leaving here without you. Please, James."

James forced himself to look away. The sincerity in her eyes made his stomach churn. _Tell her. Tell her_ now. His mouth opened but nothing came out. His fingers twitched, itching to grab the nearest item he may be able to use as a weapon. _Do it. Do_ something. Instead, he stared dumbly at their hands, watching as Zoe slowly curled her fingers, entwining them with his own. He cursed himself for the warm feeling that settled in his chest.

 _Tell her._

 _Tell her_ now!

 _Do_ something.

"I will," James answered, voice almost inaudible. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until his eyes met Zoe's. She looked so expectant. So hopeful. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he had been attempting to silence the voices in his head. Or maybe he hadn't been. He wasn't sure of anything anymore and it didn't help that Zoe barely gave him time to ponder before she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug; similar to the way she had embraced him before.

"We'll get out of here," she whispered into his hair. "All of us. I promise."

James didn't see a point in trying to respond, so he didn't. He simply mustered the strength to hug her back.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Zames is so complicated. Anywho, now Liz (and Queenie) knows about Zoe, so that will come to play in the next chapter. And since it's only becoming harder to make Zoe so oblivious, and James so... un-James-ish, she'll be finding out the truth in the next chapter (I think). And then shit will go down, I promise. I'll check for mistakes later on, I just wanted to get this out. Sorry if it seemed rushed!

Also! Because I'm sad this will probably be ending soon - I'm curious; is there another AHS pairing that you'd like a story about? I'm open to anything really, (though Parmiga canons/crossovers are my favorite) and I'd like to hear about pairings you'd like since I have all these ideas for more AHS junk.

Thanks for the reviews and follows! Next chapter should be up relatively soon.


	11. Truth

James didn't want to do this. He had hoped that, in time, Zoe would forget her fruitless hunt for her friend and accept that she was long gone. Maybe in her grief she would think it best to flee the hotel once and for all. But Zoe Benson was more stubborn than he had anticipated—something that, unfortunately for him, made her even more endearing.

He'd hinted at her departure several times, but she merely reiterated her intent to drag him along with her. He never put up an argument, only offering a distressed grimace and a sharp exhale. The _truth_ , surely, would change her mind — yet James, weak as he was, still found himself unable to actually _tell_ her.

She was, however, becoming distressed, that much was clear, and James found himself getting annoyed (no, not _concerned_ ) with her new pessimistically gloomy demeanor. So, after struggling to convince her to leave the hotel long enough to contact another one of her friends back home, he reluctantly decided to pay a visit to Liz, who had suspiciously made herself scarce since their last encounter.

She looked no less disinterested with his queries than usual as she dried off a glass. "The girl's dead, James," she stated matter-of-factly. "You know it, I know it — and if you don't want your precious Zoe to end up the same way, I suggest you get her out of this hell-hole before she ends up dead too. Then again, that's probably what you're waiting for." She set a calculating gaze on him, as though _daring_ him to deny it.

James shifted his weight. He would be lying if he said that he hadn't _thought_ about it. If Zoe was so set on the two of them being _together_ , it would make sense for him to simply grant her wish, wouldn't it? As foolish as it was. A quick stab in the night would leave her a permanent resident and, though it was far from ideal, there wouldn't be anymore talk of their separation. Then again, when he thought about it realistically, he hadn't managed to kill her yet—he didn't see how that was going to suddenly change. There were others in the hotel who would certainly love to take a life without need of persuasion, but he'd be damned if anyone else laid a hand on her. Oh, the complications of it all.

That being said, he ignored the statement entirely.

"Be that as it may, you are the only one who is tolerated by nearly everyone in this hotel, Miss Taylor. You must know _something,_ " he pressed. "She refuses to believe that her friend is dead without viable _proof,_ so unless you know the location of a body or which bloodthirsty mongrel killed the wretch—"

"I'm sure you _know_ who killed her, it isn't rocket science." Liz rolled her eyes, setting down the glass and leaning toward him, palm against the counter. "I know you aren't fond of the Countess, but you aren't the only one. You don't want to face her now that you've got a new girlfriend. I get it."

James grit his teeth together. He was certainly cursed, dealing with all these stubborn broads. "Nobody," he finally forced between them, "wants to face _my wife_."

" _Hear hear_ ," Liz chuckled, though her smile faded quickly. "Though if you aren't going to do it, I'm afraid I can't help you. I'm not one to get between The Countess and her meals and I doubt you want to send Zoe."

James' lips formed a thin line. No, that was out of the question. If he had anything to do with it, Zoe would _never_ encounter Elizabeth. "Well then, what do you suggest I tell—?"

His inquiry was rudely interrupted by Iris practically running into the bar. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes looking even wider beneath her disproportionate spectacles. She appeared to be a frantic wreck, barely acknowledging James as she huffed and puffed her way to Liz.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she wheezed, smacking her hand down on the counter.

Liz, who finally showed a hint of discomfort, put a hand on her hip and pursed her lips. "Calm down before you give yourself a heart attack. I'm sure that's the last thing you want."

Iris made a face, but didn't show any intention of calming herself. "I know we aren't friends, and I'm not saying you have to tell me _everything_. But considering _I_ told you about the first one, you should have at least mentioned we have another _witch_ in this damn hotel."

There was a period of uncomfortable silence. James' jaw clenched and he cast a look in Liz's direction, though the woman neatly avoided his gaze. "A _witch_ ," he echoed, tearing his gaze away from he bartender to look at the receptionist warily. "You wouldn't mean a colored girl by the name of _Queenie_ , would you?" Judging from Liz's exasperated sigh, he already had his answer.

Iris nodded, seemingly unaware of Liz's warning stare. "The Countess has her _babysitting_ , if you can believe it. But that's not the problem. The problem is _her friend_." Her attention finally went back to Liz, betrayed frustration etched upon her features. "You could have at least _told_ me her witchy pals were coming to look for her. It was only a matter of time before The Countess found out and with that girl runnin' her mouth sayin' her coven is gonna 'take her down', she's a little too pleased with the news."

Liz made a barely audible sound in the pits of her throat. She looked to James, half expecting him to fall into a frenzy. Instead, he looked disturbingly _calm_ as he processed this bit of information.

"A witch," he echoed, near dumbfounded. He met Liz's gaze, comically at a loss for words.

There was so much at stake with Iris' news, yet Liz couldn't help but crack a dry smile at the man's reaction—his bewilderment reminding her of the often forgotten fact that James March, regardless of his current state, still had an ounce of humanity in him. Iris looked between them as Liz chuckled, equally confused if not more irate. "What an interesting couple the two of you make. Every teenage girl's paranormal _dream_."

Normally, James would have delivered an equally snark-filled retort, but for now he could only stare, jaw clenching as he pieced the situation together. A dream—oh yes, _surely_. Yet at the present time, he felt as though their current predicament was no more than a _nightmare._

* * *

"Pick up, pick up, pick _up_." Zoe truly thought it was remarkable how Cordelia Foxx could manage to leave a good 20 voicemails _begging_ Zoe to call her, but when Zoe _did_ attempt contact—which was a hassle in itself—she didn't pick up the damn phone.

"Hello, you've reached Cordelia Foxx of Miss Robich—"

"Damn it!" Zoe hung up, running a hand through her hair. She was exhausted—physically, mentally, and _emotionally_. Time had not been kind to them. It was the 29th already and she was no closer to finding Queenie than she had been upon first arriving to the Cortez.

She had hoped that with James assisting her, it would have been easier. As Liz had mentioned, he knew the hotel better than anyone else. Yet even he seemed to hit a barrier with the darkness that possessed the place. Zoe's divination abilities were still unable to get further than down the hall and she was truly, genuinely beginning to believe that finding Queenie was proving to be a pointless affair.

Calling Cordelia was something that she almost wanted to avoid. As much as the Supreme had expressed her desire for Zoe to come home regardless of whether or not she was accompanied by their lost sister, Zoe couldn't help but feel guilty. She was letting someone else down. First Kyle, now Queenie and Cordelia.

That was why she wouldn't dare leave James behind as well.

Not only was she going to confide in Cordelia about the fruitless attempt at finding Queenie, but she needed to know what kind of spell would keep someone for _years_ trapped in one location. Cordelia would know what kind of barriers had been put up and, more importantly, what it would take to bring them down.

She knew Cordelia would be suspicious, considering the short period of time she'd been there. She'd think James was taking advantage, or something similar—it was her maternal-like instinct. And Zoe would struggle to explain it, to explain why she felt so strongly about him. She'd have to admit his similarities to Kyle, but her feelings had grown aside from that. James' understanding, the _connection_ the two of them had though neither could really explain it. There was much she wanted to learn about him, but there would be time for that when she brought him back to the house, when she helped him escape.

The thought along prompted her to pick up her phone again, tapping the familiar name and taking a deep breath as the line began to ring. "Pick up, pick up, _pick_ —"

" _Zoe?"_

Zoe actually let out a noise that resembled both a relieved sigh and a surprised laugh at the sound. "Cordelia," she sighed. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears, relief sparking a warmth in her chest that had her heart racing. "Shit, you answered."

"Oh, God, Zoe, you're alright." Cordelia seemed just as emotional, voice shaking through the speaker. "You _are_ alright, aren't you? What's happened? Have you found Queenie? Are you able to come back?"

Zoe gnawed at her lower lip. She'd thought about what to say, how to handle the questions, but it wasn't the same now that she was being asked. The relief heightened to anxiety and the warmth became a steady, uncomfortable burn.

"Zoe? Are you still there? Zoe, speak to me. What's going on?"

"I'm here," Zoe forced out after a moment, if only to prove that she hadn't ended the call (though part of her desperately wanted to.) "You were right about the hotel, Delia. There's… Something's really wrong here. I don't even know where to begin. I think… I think it may be haunted. And it's not just Queenie… The hotel has… victims. God, I don't even know how to describe it. It takes its victims and it doesn't let them leave. They're trapped here. Some, I don't even know for how long."

"Calm down, Zoe," Cordelia said, though there wasn't any doubt in her voice, merely concern. "What do you mean, trapped?"

Taking a shaky breath, Zoe continued, "There are residents here… I don't think they can leave the hotel. Some of them… can. I think. I don't know how it works. But some of them are trapped."

Cordelia was quiet for a moment before speaking, very slowly. "Do you think Queenie is trapped?" A pause. "Are you?"

"I'm outside now. It hasn't gotten to me. Queenie… I don't know if she is or not. I haven't—I haven't found her. I don't—I don't know." She could hear Cordelia sigh, but the Supreme didn't say more. "But… There is someone. I've met... Cordelia, I've found someone who's trapped. And… I think he's been here for a really long time, and I… Well, for both he and Queenie's sake… and any other victims… I was just—"

"You want to know how to weaken the barriers." There was something apprehensive about the way she said it. Zoe could practically see her slowly sitting at her desk, shoulders sagging slightly in her worry. "Of course, for Queenie… But, Zoe… This... This _he_ you've mentioned. Barriers such as this aren't put up for no reason. Those who are trapped may be experiencing some kind of punishment. To release them… Well, you don't know how they would respond to being free. If they were a criminal, a _demon_ , even—"

"Neither," Zoe said immediately. "He's—He's not. I _know_ he's not, Cordelia. He's… He _saved_ me. He's just trapped here out of bad luck. The wrong place at the wrong time, or something like that. I need to know how to get him out. I've promised him that when I find Queenie I'll make sure that I free him too."

Now Cordelia sighed and Zoe envisioned her bringing a hand to massage her temples. "Zoe, the last time you promised someone freedom, you released The Axeman. And, as I recall, he continued his murdering spree as soon as he got out."

"He was also dating your mom," Zoe protested. "James—He's—He's not like that. He's not the Axeman. Cordelia, he saved my life. A criminal wouldn't do that. He's helping me look for Queenie, he's… We have a… We have a connection and I can't explain it even though I know you want me to and—" her rambling cut off and she realized that she had worked herself up to the point of tears. Rubbing furiously at her eyes, she inhaled slowly. "I just need to know how to get him out. How to get all of us out and back home."

"Zoe…" Cordelia murmured, though her tone was exasperated. She knew she'd lost this battle and she had no intentions of arguing further—not if it would risk Zoe's return. "Barriers are very complicated," she admitted and Zoe could hear her as she stood. She could hear Cordelia rummaging around, no doubt flipping through the worn pages of books in search of some kind of solution. "I'd have to know why the barrier was placed. I'd have to look into the very history of the hotel before I could even begin searching as to— _Shit_." Her curse was accompanied by the sound of things falling.

"Cordelia?" Zoe's brows drew together. "You okay?"

"Hold on, Zoe," Cordelia mumbled. Zoe heard her muttering under her breath as she gathered her belongings until suddenly—silence.

Zoe stood up, a chill running down her spine. "Cordelia?" She pulled her phone away from her ear. The call was still in session, but Cordelia had gone quiet for reasons unbeknownst to her. She brought the device to her ear again and she could faintly hear the woman breathing. It was muffled, as though she had something to her mouth. "Cordelia? Are you okay? What's wrong? Did you find something?"

It was another agonizingly long moment before Cordelia spoke again, but her voice was quiet and shaky. "Zoe… This man that you say you've met. That you want to free from the hotel. What did you say his name was?"

Relieved, albeit a bit confused, Zoe shook her head. "Uh, James. His name is James. Why? What does that have to do with—"

"Do you know his _full_ name, Zoe?" There was a sense of alarming urgency in Cordelia's voice as it raised in volume. "What is his _full_ name? James _what?_ "

Zoe didn't like where this was going. Her heart began to pound in her chest, and the blazing sun above made her skin feel as though it were nearly on fire. "I—"

"Damn it, Zoe! What's his _name?"_

"March!" Zoe practically yelled, nerves finally having reached their peak. "His name is James March! Why does it matter?!"

Cordelia made a sound not akin to a strangled sob. "Zoe, I need you to listen to me," she said, voice suddenly low and desperate as though she expected someone to be listening in. "I need you to leave right now."

Zoe was sure she was bound to pass out and she stumbled in her dizzy. "What? But-But Queenie—James—"

"I don't know who you think James is, or what he's told you, but he's _lying_. If you're out of the hotel, I need you to find the nearest station, airport, _anything._ Do you have your wallet? If you don't, go somewhere else. I'll come out there and find you. But whatever you do, do _not_ go back there, do you understand me?"

"Why?" Zoe croaked, vision blurring. "Why did you need his name? What—Who—? I can't just—I promised I would—"

" _Zoe_ ," Cordelia nearly wailed. "Don't you understand? You've seen these barriers before. The Axeman, _Spalding_. They were confined to the parts of the house in which they died due to the crimes they'd committed. James is not a _victim_. He's trapped because of his punishment. Zoe, he's _dead_."

Zoe felt as though her heart had plummeted to the pits of her stomach. It wasn't as though the concept hadn't crossed her mind, but she had purged it from her thoughts. James couldn't be dead, no. She wouldn't…. She couldn't handle if someone she-No. No, he _wasn't_ dead. Yet it made so much sense. Too much sense. His attire, his manners, his _accent_. The fact that he'd never been to places like Disneyland and he became so upset when she mentioned him leaving. A spirit. Trapped.

"I can—I can release him," Zoe whispered. "I can release him like I did the Axeman. The spell… I think I remember it. I think I can save—"

"James March is not deserving of freedom, Zoe. Of salvation. Zoe, please. Promise _me_ that you won't go back to that hotel. That you won't see him again. He's _dangerous_. Do _not_ set him free. You'll repeat history all over again. Whether the Axeman was with my mother or not, he was still a killer. A killer in life and a killer in death. These people do not change. You absolutely _cannot_ —"

"What?" Time, funny as it was, finally decided to stop at that moment.

"Zoe, listen to me—"

"I—I am listening," Zoe whispered. "But what… What did you say? What do you mean, 'these people don't change'?" The conversation drifted into silence again and Zoe felt an uncomfortable lump form in her throat. "Cordelia, don't— _What did you mean?"_

"Oh, Zoe," Cordelia sighed softly. "You don't even know who he is."

Tears spilled over Zoe's cheeks and she swallowed past the lump. "Who he is…" Suddenly intrusive memories plagued her mind. The answers had been right in front of her, had been _screamed_ at her, and yet she had been too preoccupied in what she thought to be _love_.

The way James had come to her rescue, brutally _killing_ the men who attacked her without so much as blinking. The way he spoke of it so casually the following day. His anger toward Will Drake. Then Liz telling her the story of the hotel, of the psychotic serial killer that had built and _owned_ it until the day he died. Suicide, she had said. The rumors of the hotel's haunting. The way Liz desperately tried to get Zoe to _forget_ James. Then the picture Zoe had seen before leaving New Orleans. A photo of the hotel in its prime, featuring the handsome man in the window.

Cordelia desperately fought to regain her attention through the speaker, but Zoe had long since stopped listening. She was already walking back. Back to the hotel where she _knew_ she had to be. She had come for a reason, and she would be damned if she would leave before fulfilling her mission. Even if it meant seeing him again. Even if she would have to confront him. Even if the caption on the photograph she had seen before all this started was now prominent in her mind.

The Hotel Cortez, 1924, _owner J.P.M._

James P. March.

The man she thought was her second chance.

A killer.

* * *

yes, hello, i'm alive! with all the hype coming from season 6 approaching, i thought i might as well come back and update this should anyone still be interested! i apologize for the ridiculously long wait, and i hope you aren't too disappointed with this chapter. it think i'll be watching coven and hotel over the weekend just to make sure i'm still up to date with everything, but i'd love to finish this as i planned to in the beginning. anywho! hope you can look past the inevitable typos as it's late and i wrote this fairly quickly - enjoy!


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